


Nanny Lovino (Reverse Spamano)

by AGN, written58



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Smut, alternative universe, romano needs a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGN/pseuds/AGN, https://archiveofourown.org/users/written58/pseuds/written58
Summary: The Spain that raised Romano dies when his crown is dissolved after the Spanish succession war. However, a new baby nation is born from the bits allocated to France, The Kingdom of Spain, a smiling and tempestuous toddler that nobody but Romano seems able to control.Romano is still grieving when he becomes the caregiver of this child, who looks and thinks exactly like the Spain he once knew and is ready to show him how hard caring for a young nation actually is.
Relationships: South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	1. Good Bye My Almost-Lover.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nanny Lovino(Reverse Spamano)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27872501) by [AGN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGN/pseuds/AGN). 



“C´mon, Lovi, don't cry. It's okay.”

“How can you say that, you idiot! I-It's not okay!”

Spanish Empire chuckled. Apparently, Lovino´s despair was very amusing. Romano clenched his teeth as much as his sobs would allow him to. He wanted to hit the damn bastard, nearly as bad as he wanted to hold him and never let go. How could this idiot accept his own death so calmly? And why couldn't Lovino do the same? He was trying. Spanish Empire valued self control and pride, and Lovino was trying to show both and accept destiny with the same dignity his boss was showing, but he was failing spectacularly.

“It's okay. I finished what I came to Earth to do, this must be God's will…”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK ABOUT GOD RIGHT NOW??” Lovino´s voice cracked mid sentence, face red in anger, tears and mucus flying everywhere as he jumped up fiercely ready to murder whatever was responsible for this, eyes blind and useless form his own tears. Damn, he was just a mess, crying like a baby and leaving a damp stain on his boss’s black shirt. The Spaniard caressed Lovino’s hair, guiding the sobbing teen to lie against his shoulder.

“My Sicilies” he mumbled fondly, more for himself than for the other. “Do you remember our middle ages, Lovi? I thought I´d die then for sure, but I didn't. Nobody would give a damn for me back then, but I didn't do that bad after all, did I? This was long overdue. I really don't mind.”

Lovino tried to answer but choked and knotted his voice into a curl of sound. All he could do was to sob harder against Spain´s black clothes. The hand caressing his hair was firm and strong, but what good was that strength against the odd caprices of fortune? Antonio couldn't fight the end of a dynasty, especially if he was not a kingdom, but the crown itself. He couldn't use his strength and experience in combat to create an heir out of thin air, and he couldn't fight the parts of his people that dreamed of a change, manipulated and foolish as they might be. He coudn´t, stupid, foolish, loyal piece of crap, noble idiot, fight the testament of his king.

“Don´t cry, please, Lovi. You know I can't stand seeing you cry.”

“Then-then don't die damnit!”

“Hm? I'm afraid that's not so easy.” It was soft. It was loving. It was compassionate and laced with wisdom and with every single virtue Lovino needed to comfort him, but that he also couldn't take. It was all Spain, all Antonio, all within one simple, humble sentence that kept making lovino fall deeper in love and into despair than he ever thought possible.

Charles II agonized somewhere in the upper floor, and when the man gave his last breath the Hispanic Crown would be dissolved, and the many kingdoms that used to live under it across three continents would be up for grabs.

“We don't even know if you- Austria may take the crown back! His Archduke may win the war and keep the crown together and-”

“Eh, Lovi. Don´t do that, okay? It will only hurt you worse in the end.”

“But it is true! And your American siblings will stay loyal to you, and-”

“Don´t get them involved, okay? They are good kids, but I don't want to drag them into Europe´s wars. They don't need that”

“But they can make you win! If they refuse to accept the damn French king then you could-!”

“I´m not just them Lovi, you know that.”

Lovino wanted to yell at his boss even louder. He wanted to yell that he should think about all the nations that lived in his house. He wanted to yell that he should think of his parents and how the new kings were going to milk them, if not kill them outright, dissolve their kingdoms and themselves into nothingness! He wanted to twist Antonio´s heart strings and make him feel so so so so guilty that he would not have the heart to die, but Lovino wasn't that much of a brat. He was a teen now with enough brain to imagine kissing his boss under the moonlight and how their naked bodies would feel tangled together. He was old enough to understand politics, and empires, to handle Antonio´s commerce, have his boss's bilnd trust and-and to understand that guilt can´t keep you alive. He wished he wasn't that old. He wished he was an ignorant, petulant child that thought kicking and screaming would give him what he wanted. That would make this ordeal much less agonizing.

He couldn't yell, it wouldn't help. He found himself crumbling instead, grabbing his boss´s shirt as his body went boneless, no spine, no courage, just despair and denial was all he wanted, the center of his world, a world that had been warm and happy for the first time since he was born, escaped through his fingertips.

“Don´t leave me, please” He sobbed, as Antonio's arms and chess kept him from falling.

“If I had a choice, I would never do it.”

“Y-You didn't tell me earlier! Damnit, why didn't you!”

“I wanted you to be happy as long as possible, Sicilies.”

A kiss on his hair. Another sob from Lovino. Lovino knew the answer to that question without asking it, but he needed to hear it. He loved the inflexion in Spain´s words. They told him that he was loved, that he was not being abandoned, not really, not in the way he thought. It even told him that maybe, if he dared...if he had dared it before...But what was the point of getting what he had longed for, just to lose it?

Spain was an empire. A conquest based Empire. A true Empire as he´d say, just like Rome and the Arabs and Persia were before him. That meant that he was nothing on his own, he was the general, the whole, the ghostly sense of unity of a lot of other nations and kingdoms that had come together under the dynastic union, the sword of their army, and promises of the Hapsburgs. Now that the last Spanish Hapsbergs was going to die, the crown that his pathetic life, his soft, sickly brain and his stubborn, persistent heartbeat held together would fade like fog under the sun that burned the windows outside the palace. Far too bright. Far far far too bright for such a dark day.

Antonio kept his henchman close to his body and with his free hand he took the flag that was on the bed, snow-white with Burgundy´s cross on it, and folded it in neat, small squares. There was not a corner in the globe without a grave that had this flag proudly painted at his head, but now the burgundy cross would not fly again. Antonio wanted to be one more of his soldiers, die with it in his pocket. That is how he has always felt anyway, not a noble, not a king, but a soldier fighting for a cause he could never fully see.

“ It is funny” he commented, Lovino trying to breathe his mucus in so he could listen “I have fought and defeated half of Europe, half of the world; but what takes me from you is something I can't fight...I expected to be way more furious about this you know? There is no glory in dying this way” he sighed “But I´m not mad. I'm in peace. This end feels right, somehow.”

“D-don´t! You are strong and-!”

“I'm not saying there will not be something you can call an Empire after this is over, but we both know it won't be me” Lovino screeched, an inarticulate protest

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up! SHUT THE FUCK UP! You will not die! Austria may still win the war! He has allies! England and-”

“Lovi” Antonio´s voice sounded serious, final, but not harsh. He was never harsh “Roderich has no allies. Arthur, Portugal...They aren't his allies, they are his enemies. They will stab him in the back as soon as they can. I know that, and so would he if he was thinking straight. I´m touched by his efforts, but...”

He looked at his henchman´s pleading eyes, and tried to squeeze and kill that hurtful hope as gently as he possibly could.

“While an empire rules, there is no room for others; to grow the rest needs me vanished, Roderich can't keep me alive unless he defeats all of Europe single-handedly, and he can't do that. I need you to come to terms with that Sicilies. I need you to be ready to survive in the mess that is going to come after I'm gone.”

“But I-I can´t! I´m-I´m not strong, or smart, or-”

“Nonsense. You are strong, you are the bravest nation I´ve ever met.” With that, Antonio gave him a kiss on the forehead that made him shiver in love and pain, and Lovino knew that his boss considered the conversation ended. The knot in his throat didn´t let the poor teen breath. He felt the body next to him move, pick him up, place him on the chair and out of the warm lap he had been enjoying, and stand.

He snapped. He didn't want it to be over. It couldn't be over, not like this, not yet. He darted up, grabbed Spain´s by the collar of his black jacket and pressed a kiss on his lips, inexperienced, sloppy and desperate. The other didn´t respond, but did not push him away, he just leaned slightly in the humid warmth and the love offered to him so honestly.

When Lovino moved away from him the lad was red up to his ears and shaking feet to toe, the fear of vulnerability shaking him. The Dying Empire placed a hand on the young man's shoulder out of instinct. He almost smiled at his own gesture. This was strange, and tragic. He should be scared, conflicted maybe. Why did kissing his former charge as he marched towards the brink of death feel so domestic, so natural?

Lovino was staring at the floor with all his might, fists balled so hard that his entire body was shaking, and that fierce determination in his eyes, the one that would walk through cannon fire and pirate lines and the mortifying shame that muted him, and through anything on Earth, just to follow his boss and stand by him. The one that made Spain´s heart flutter.

“I-I know that this-That it is strange for you. Because-Because you raised me and shit. And I-I do-don't expect you to-I mean...I understand this is strange, and maybe I'm-You are not that much older than me anyway! but-and I know it is sick but-but I-I have_ I always have...I know it is too late dammit. And I know I´m not a girl, so how would that even-? But I-I need you to know that I'm- I-I love you."

"I know. I Love you too"

"No! Not like that! I mean-I-I really-I lov-” he was silenced with the ghost of a kiss, barely a brush of the lips, and an open hearted look in green eyes that said everything that the words, their beliefs, the world wouldn't let them say.

Lovino understood, and felt swollen with joy and ripped apart by grief all at once.

“Lie if you must. Okay Lovi? Pretend to forget me, to believe them. Lie. Even to yourself, even for eternity. Anything to build your house strong and survive. I won't mind.”

“Lie about what?” Antonio smiled in that way that hid for more than it revealed.

“I need to go. Charles needs me. I don´t know when he will ..expire”

“Stay, please. Let me stay with you!”

“No. I have never seen an empire disintegrate. I don´t know how it will look or...be.”

“I won't get hurt!”

“That- That's not it, I-I don't” Antonio´s cheeks got a light blush. “I don't want anyone to see it when it happens”

“You are too damn proud! Fuck! You have always been! You-” But he couldn't yell anymore. Who could yell with that smile being directed at him?

“I know” Spain conceded fully, caressing Romano´s cheek “I know I am, I have always been. And you know too. Won´t you indulge my stupid pride one last time, Two Sicilies? Please?”

Romano wanted to say that no, that he wouldn't, that he wanted to be by that beloved bastard until the end, but he couldn't say a word with those sweet snake eyes hypnotizing him and robbing him of every inch of will he ever had.

Lovino bowed his head, his entire body shacking again under another desperate sobbing spell. As usual, he couldn't say no to his boss. He couldn't say no to the man that he loved. He couldn't say no to those green eyes, he never could, no matter how much of a show he made of trying...So he nodded, agreeing to let Antonio die alone and out of sight, the bits of his broken heart flying everywhere and biting in the flesh of his throat as he did so. Spain gave him a thankful smile, soft and full of love, kissed him one last time, right in the corner of the mouth, between the cheek and the lips-so fitting, so exactly how their relationship had been, and would always remain- and left upstairs, to the upper floor of the palace.

That was the last time Romano saw his boss, the Spanish Empire, the one who fought and bleed under the burgundy cross, for the dreams that a Hollander philosopher seeded in a German king.

Less than two weeks later the bells tolled the death march letting the universe know that the king was dead, and the dynastic unions under him were over. The succession war broke, all of Europe fighting for a decade straight and scorching Antonio´s former lands under the pretext of supporting the pretenders of Austria or France. By the end of it Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was no more.


	2. Problem Child

Less than two weeks later the bells tolled the death march letting the universe know that the king was dead, and the dynastic unions under him were over. The succession war broke, all of Europe fighting in Iberian land under the pretext of supporting the pretenders of Austria or of France. By the end of it Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was no more.

It was over a decade of strife. Austria fought so bravely and desperately to win his friend and keep him alive that he looked more like a demon than a nation. So fierce that at times it seemed like his burning passion alone would be able to defeat the largest army in Europe, maybe in the world, as he drove France back over and over again, blinded by fury and despair. Lovino´s eyes glittered, he hoped, he really did, but in the end Spain was right. The very instant in which it seemed like Roderich would prevail, do the impossible instead of being just an annoyance to weaken France, his allies turned on him. All of them. Nobody would allow a second marriage between Spain and Austria. No-bloody-way.

Lovino will forever remember the thin, exhausted image of Roderich on his knees as Arthur pushed his dagger deeper in his back and twisted, leaving the Austrian shrieking in pain as his former cooperator calmly walked to France´s side. Antonio had told Lovino not to hope, not to expect that anything but his dissolution would come of it, but still...For the faintest moment...he had hoped...and now the fall hurt even more.

Lovino bit his lips and tried to keep his sobs in, keep some semblance of pride. Around him, the room was a cross between a funeral and a vulture´s feast. Austria looked sad and broken. By him, his Archduke couldn't still assimilate the loss, Lovino could tell because he was dressed the Spanish way, in black wool and no ornaments, and he had vowed to do so for as long as he lived. The poor idiot, Lovino thought bitterly, hating the man for failing to do the impossible. He needed to hate, he tried to hate Antonio for dying, for leaving him, but couldn't, so instead he hated himself, hated the greedy eyes of France, the very existence of England, who had no actual right to be here except for the honorable role of backstabbing kingmaker, Portugal, Vene, the Potato eaters...He could see them all arguing about who would move in with whom, who would get carved and served in chunks like a turkey. On the table a bunch of papers were being signed, after a decade of ongoing war across Europe . 

He knew that he should care about what the other nations were discussing. It was his fate after all, but he really couldn't. He closed his eyes, breathing deep, trying to keep it together. Between hate, rage and pain he didn't even feel part of reality anymore. He was floating on the corner of the room, seeing it all as if he wasn't part of it. He had been floating in the emptiness and the void since Spain smiled at him for the last time. Only a sentence in France´s voice managed to cut through the fog in Lovino´s mind, and slowly drop him back to the world he thought held nothing for him anymore.

“So, if I accept these conditions, the brat is finally mine?”

Brat? Which brat? 

Lovino opened his eyes, focussing on the documents with difficulty. Peru, maybe? No, she and the other American kingdoms hardly qualified as “brats”, they were quite self-sufficient. 

He tried to recall the bits of recent conversation. Yeah, they had agreed that France would get the houses of both Spain´s parents, after giving up concessions left and right on lands that were not his. He was talking about joining them both, centralization along with the American lads and- Wait. This weird political entity France was describing was totally different from what the Empire of Spain had been, but it was...a thing,... could it, could it be?

Adrenaline was injected straight to his veins at the thought. He darted out of his chair in the most impolite way possible and kicked the door of the meeting room as he darted to run across the corridors of the gigantic Brussels palace, looking for something.

The Brat…

...No way…

He looked everywhere, opening rooms, his heart pounding in his mouth, until he finally knew where to look. The treasure room. Where these bastards kept all the loot and art and treasures from Spain's former lands they were to distribute. He opened the door with a kick...And there he was. Among the paintings and beautiful silver arabesque works, just like another thing to be fought over, he found the big green eyes of a little kid peeking over the edge of a crib. The newborn kingdom of Spain, in the space left by the Habsburg Empire, welcomed Lovino with an enthusiastic coo that meant nothing, but that Lovino swore was made out of guitar music and dry rock rose.

“Spain” Romano whispered.

The child made another inarticulate sound, clearly happy to have some distraction other than playing with his little hands and feet, and tilted his head examining the newcomer with that eternal spark of amusement. Romano's heart couldn't take the view anymore. He covered his mouth on instinct to hold a sob inside, and ran out of the room.

He wasn't Spain, he was a kid. But God, it was him! 

But it wasn´t. He needed to remember that. 

But it was! Those eyes, that light, that aura that spoke straight to his heart, tugging from every string...

No. It was his pain talking. Antonio was dead. And either way, Lovino would be forced to move in with Austria, and not-Spain was going with France ! France the wannabe empire who would call himself as such with no claim to it, France the jealous bastard, jealous and selfish grabby hands, who would…

Lovino directed his run to the nearest window and threw up every last content of his stomach. He didn´t know if it was worry, if it was fear, or if it was just the sight of those bright green eyes again, in a new body and shape, that had been far too much. He couldn't help not-Spain. He couldn't do anything. Spain was gone, but he was not. His head was spinning, his body shaking, and his heart was in so much pain he couldn't feel it anymore.

"Where is Two Sicilies?"

"Who cares? He is your Problem now"

“Cést incroyable!” Francis yelled, moving his hands in the air and almost pulling at his hair.

“Gah!” the kid replied happily, but Francis was sure that there was an evil twink in that little bastard´s eye.

For a second time Francis tried to take the toy boats from the little toddler's hand, but the child resisted, splashing the elegant silk shirt of the blonde with the dirty water of his bath, and keeping his toy boat safe. As France glared indignantly, the little child chuckled.

“Fine! Keep that relic!”

“Gah!”

France pretended to look away, uninterested, but when the kid least expected it he threw himself towards the child and tried to pry the boat away from his fingers. However, it turns out that the demonic toddler was expecting it. He quickly moved the wooden boat behind his back and made a body slam on the older nation's head the moment it was close enough, sinking him under the water. France's head went in with a loud splash. From the corner of the bathroom the poor king Philip of Bourbon looked at the mess with a mixture of determination and horror, while the toddler laughs maliciously, the wooden boat still in his power . France didn´t have such mixed feelings at the momment, his eyes just screamed infanticide.

“You little son of a b-”

“Gah! Gagah!” and a chuckle. 

France huffed in fury and snatched a towel from the wall, He stormed out of the bathroom drying his hair, before he ended up doing something he may not regret nearly as much as basic morality dictated that he should, leaving behind a young kingdom happy with his wooden boat and his bath. The only reason why he had to personally come to Madrid was because the child was terrorizing every Frenchman, every French sympathizing minister, and every minister that happened to be within a ten meter´s radius of him. The reason why he had to personally try and bathe the monster was because he had the strength of a baby nation, and would not hesitate to use it against human servants.

He tried to turn him into a proper country? The kid threw a fit. He tried to redecorate the room? The kid teared the decorations down, leaving depressing, somber stone walls behind. He tried to give the place a coherent decoration? The kid destroyed it all. How much fight could have in him a baby whose body had been subjected to 14 years of brutal war? Well, the answer was: A lot. Enough to get France to yield his pride, a little, only a little, only enough to admit that he needed to consult with an expert on screaming psychopaths with no sense of self preservation in order to handle this.

“Sir. The Kingdom of Two Sicilies is here” The servant informed, intercepting him halfway through his furious walk through the palace.

Francis cursed with all the colours of the rainbow, a vocabulary that only his closest friends knew he possessed until 30 years ago, and that was now in full display almost daily. 

With a quick motion he combed back his humid hair and arranged himself back to the balsé attitude he knew was expected of him.

“Tell him to come in” He said graciously, grabbing a silver plate to check his appearance and arrange a couple of locks. 

Romano came into the room wearing old fashioned clothes. That was fairly odd for him, except if one considered that they were the type of clothes he used to wear in his last years by the deceased empire side. 

After the prior Antonio´s death, Romano had been a nightmare of his own for whomever had the misery to host him. He had been passed around like a hot potato all around the Mediterranean, so much so that the nation of the sea had tossed the annoying teen back to Austria, who was also having a really miserable time trying to control him, and was about to resort to the technique of starving what you can't control until it no longer has the strength to cause problems.

At least, those thoughts sweetened France´s bitter disposition with a touch of joy. As difficult as his position was bad, knowing that other nations were worse healed his ego and kept up his hopes of being the next great power, toddler assisting or not.

“Thank you for coming here.” 

“Yeah. Thank you for inviting me.”

Sweet as a lemon, France taught with a sight.

“So, Romano. Have you considered my offer?” 

The Frenchman asked, a silky voice smooth and controlled. 

The Italian scowled, but he was clearly trying to be polite, pleasant even, which only fed on France´s ego even further. He could see how Romano´s eyes darted around, noticing every change, every detail, going from fond remembrance to concern and anger as he noticed the changes, or the many, many splashes on the wall from the many, many revolts that the Bourbon dynasty had dealt with in the last years. 

It had been a while since Francis had given up on being liked by Romano, after he effectively killed the kid´s platonic love, he knew well that he was hated without bounds. He could only imagine how hard, how humiliating it had to be for Romano to drag himself there, to the old house of his boss, to meet France, treat him like the new lord of the place, and then plead and beg for a favor. Because they both knew that kneeling and begging is what proud Romano had come here to do.

“Let me see him first,” Romano demanded, trying to recover his dignity.

Francis nodded, accepting, and shrugged.

“He is a nightmare. He is so goddamn stubborn I don´t know if it's a child of a demon! I think he is more stubborn than you ever were'' France stated, holding the bridge of his nose. Romano just scowled.

“Of course he is. He always was” Lovino spat.

“Hm? That's not what I remember”

“That's because you weren't looking!”

Lovino looked at the blonde with complete disgust. Disgust for sounding surprised. Disgust about how the blonde had managed to live by Spain millenia, to write about him, to criticise him, to be now trying to goddamned rule over his inheritance, and still know nothing about him. Nothing at all. What was going to come to the house of his former home now that the ruler was a clown that didn´t know the first thing about it, and still thought that he knew everything?

The Italian pushed the thought to a corner of his mind, where it stayed throwing a tantrum and banging on his cranium, and walked into the bathroom to kneel by the bathtub, where a very angry, very determined toddler hugged a wooden boat against his chest.

“Hey there, chiquillo, cómo estás?” The kid´s expression softened after hearing someone addressing him in his own language instead of French, and eyed Romano curiously. 

“Gah!”

The Italian couldn't help but smile back at those green eyes, but his expression got clouded back quickly.

“Why are you trying to take his toys from him?” He asked Francis. The blonde made a dramatic gesture with his hands

“Because he is a psycho!”

“Excuse me?” warned Romano, but France did not back down.

“He is trying to throw the thing to my head!” he accused. “He wants to crack my head open with them!”

Antonio hid the wooden boat behind his back and gave the room the most unconvincing sheepish smile in all military history. 

“Gah?” he faked innocence by looking to the side.

“Yes! Gah! He doesn't accept my rul-His new king´s rules. The second I´m not looking he will uprise and you know it!”

“Gah? Gaaaah” the kid beat his eyelashes, an adorable and innocent image broken by his mischievous grin and eyes too sly for his years. 

Oh yeah, Lovino had to give France that. He at least had good instincts. Lovino knew those eyes and there was an uprising waiting to happen in there, he didn't even need to check the bite marks all over France's forearms to know that (even though it did help).

“You want to crawl back to Austria, eh little pest, well, It is not going to happen!”

“Gah!”

France launched a surprise attack to get the toy, but Antonio was faster, hiding it behind himself. France tripped on the wet tiles and stumbled, ending up elbow deep into the bath water, sleeves and locks soaking wet again, while his prey chuckled and moved away from him with a shit.eating grin across his chubby face.

“I´ve tried to take it from him in a civilized manner, I swear. But he is so damn stubborn!” Romano sighed and looked down.

“Let me take care of this, okay?” he half suggested, half ordered. He could only imagine what his old boss would think of this betrayal, but France was at the end of his rope, and he didn't want to find out what could happen to the little nation if he made the frenchman finally snap.

With a sight, Livino came closer to the edge of the tub, not minding if his clothes, perfectly ironed and perfumed, expensive as they came despite their old style, got wet with dirty bath water. It might be his imagination-some desperate wishful thinking-but he felt like the little toddler liked him, recognized him almost.

“Look, Antonio, you need to give me this boat” He whispered in Spanish to the kid. The child protested, looking betrayed.

“Gah!”

“C´mon. We both know that you don't want it to just play”

The kid pouted, slightly guilty, but still pushed Lovino´s hand aside when he tried to get the boat.

“Look, Antonio. I´m going to explain to you why you need to give your navy to France and let him take it away, okay? And you are going to listen and do what I tell you, because you are being an idiot right now, Understand?” The kid looked at him attentively. Probably half of the words were flying meters over his head, along with the meaning, but the urgency and seriousness with which he was being addressed by that strange man that treated him with a respect nobody else in the room was showing was capturing his attention, and even part of his stubborn will. 

“First, you are going to give me that boat because you can´t take France on right now without being very hurt, and you remind me of someone... and I don't want you hurt. Second you are going to give it to me because, even if you can get rid of that frog bastard with an uprising, nobody will allow it to last and you will get hurt, and I don't want to see that. Third, because I'm asking you nicely, and I don't usually ask for things nicely, which means this is ver, very important, and fourth-” As he spoke, Lovino reached for the toy, It was in his hands now, and the Italian was delicately peeling the little fingers from the wood. The entire room was silent. Lovino could feel all the eyes piercing his neck, all eyes on him as if he was a snakecharmer performing a miracle through his strange, unintelligible words “and fourth you are going to give your navy up for the bastard to dismantle because we both know that he is making a mistake. We both know that this idiot can't hold England at bay, and we both know that the second he dismantles your navy and tries to control the sea on his own he is going to get his ass handed to him, and we both want to see that happen, am I wrong?” 

Lovino peeled the last little finger off the wooden toy. The kid let go, allowing Lovino to take it peacefully. The room hummed in amazement, but Lovino didn't care, he was lost in the stare both of them were sharing and he refused to break. He knew that the child had not understood a word, certainly had not understood the content. How could he, being so young? But a part of him wished so desperately to believe that he had! To believe that Toni was still there, somehow, in some form…And it was so easy to believe! Madonna, so easy! Because the newborn kingdom of Spain was looking at him with big green eyes and he swore to God that he saw amusement in them when his argument about France being beaten was made. He swore he saw recognition in them, and a sharpness beyond his years as he stared back.

Romano´s hand moved to the kid´s cheek on its own accord, and smudged the dirt that decorated every inch of them. Antonio allowed it, and giggled. Lovino´s face melted in a fond smile, and his heart melted along with it.

“You haven't even let these bastards wash your face, have you?”

“Gah!” The child displayed a huge grin. Lovino felt like the sun had risen in his heart, spreading warmth and light after a night of more than five years, and found himself smiling back.

“Well, we should fix that then, shouldn't we?” He pulled his sleeves up past his elbows, and sank his hands in the bath water. Then he proceeded to rub the kid's face, while little Antonio protested, half serious and half joking, filling the room with a contagious laughter.

“Gah!”

“Ni gah ni Goh! Pareces un mapache!” 

“Gah-ah-he!” Antonio repeated, and laughed a bit more, while Lovino kept rubbing off dirt from his cheeks and his hair. Lovino didn´t get bites, for everyone´s puzzlement, just chuckles and occasional, playful whining. He was even allowed to clean behind Antonio´s ears, once a front that had costed blood, pain and almost a finger to those brave enough to try before. Keeping eye contact with the child, Lovino managed to get away with anything.

Silently, all the servants exited the room, leaving Romano alone to take care of the stubborn child, who was now cooing and splashing water all around. Romano wouldn't have asked for any other wish had a fairy appeared to him that same instant.

Half an hour later France saw South Italy emerge from the room of the bath, shirt sleeves up to his elbows, forearms wet, jacket forgotten, and the little kingdom of Spain in his arms, wrapped in a towel, and silent. The child rested his head on Romano´s shoulder, soaking the Italian´s shirt with his wet hair. France stood at attention.

“Don´t bother, he will tell me where his room is.”

“He can't speak” France protested, feeling like he had dropped into a parallel reality, but Lovino didn't bother answering, nor did the child.

“So, have you considered my offer?”

“Offer? You need me! You can't handle him”

“Don't brag Romano. We both know how this is going to go. May we please skip to the end?”

“Oh, Please! You were practically begging me to help you with him!” 

France sighed. So, it was going to be the long version of this. Very well.

“And you were desperate to see him.” Lovino reddened bright, but refused to budge “If you were inside my family pacts, you could see him all the time...No questions asked either. Just think about it. It may be in your best interest….Meanwhile, Veneziano can try handling him in the meantime”

“Veneziano can´t” it wasn't a question, it was a statement. 

Romano didn´t know why he was so sure, but the moment it had been suggested he knew it wouldn't work. Veneziano didn't understand Spain. He couldn't. Vene laughed and, smiled but he didn't know about smiling in the darkness and despite of the suffering, he didn't understand rage and betrayal and a climate that tries to kill you while smiling at you, he didn't understand being so throned between different peoples that you feel like ripping your skin out, but not doing so because you love them all. Only Lovino understood that. Only Lovino understood Spain. Except this one was not Spain…

But he was! Somehow, he had to be...This kid knew Lovino understood him, just like his boss knew back then that only Lovino understood him, even though he never had said so.

He had known that, right?

Right?

Right.

Don´t think about it now. Focus. Vene. The kid. The deep eyes. France.

”Only I can. I must be the one who takes care of him.” Because only he could, but of course France, stupid France woudn´t see it, not even with his clothes soaking wet and the stitches on his forehead.

“Spain is a bit wild, but I think I'm doing pretty well in civilizing-”

”You are doing shit!” Romano snapped “He would never approve on how you are treating his siblings! He wouldn't accept how you treat his parents! You have no goddamned idea of what you're doing and you are destroying every-”

“Oh, but that Spain is dead, isn't he? We are talking about another nation now.”

That was a stab right to the heart. His body almost curled on itself from the pain. If France was a psychopath, unable to understand how deep the feelings Lovino had went, or if he was trying to help him in his own, twisted way, would forever be a mystery hidden behind the blonde's smile

“You remember that, right?”

Lovino grumbled, trying to hide the hurt in his eyes.

"I do" he whispered to himself.

Lovino wanted to cry, but he didn't even know why. 

“This one will, hopefully, be more reasonable.”

France smiled. It was supposed to be a reassuring smile. Romano wanted to punch that smile into the back of his skull.

“Whatever. Fact: You- you can't control the kid. That's obvious. So I could help you” As to reinforce Lovino´s words, a sound of smashed glass came from the upper floor. France waved his hand.

“Your help would make my life easier, I don´t deny that...He won't be a toddler forever though, Then-

“Then he will be worse, you dumbass!”

“Hard to imagine…”

“You have no idea how stubborn and canny he can be…”

"Are we still talking about this one?"

Romano bit his lip.

"Let me help you out. It will be best for both of you"

“Oh, my! Are you, Romano, begging me to be my nanny?”.

Romano got red with fury, fists balled, teeth clenched.

“Like I would beg anything of you.” He hissed.

“Oh, that is good, because, you know, I would hate to say no.” Romano tried to hide the horror that went through his eyes, but failed miserably. “As sweet as I find you and your ports, you are a territory of an enemy nation...and of an enemy dynasty, I couldn't possibly let my little Spain spend time with you. You are clearly a bad influence.”

Lovino clenched his teeth further. From the upper floor came another sound of objects breaking, turmoil of human servants, what sounded like a very loud slap, and screams of a bratty child.

“You can't be serious…”

“I certainly am. I would not let a foreign agent influence my new...charge”

“But you can't handle him! You don't and-!”

“I'm sure I will manage to handle him, one way or another. There are many tried and true methods to deal with bratty children that maybe Antonio should have used on yo-.”

“Don't hit him!”

“Well. I don't like it. I´m not a big believer on the switch, but I´m not being left much opt-”

“Don´t! Goddamned son of a bitch! He is just a kid! He is just conflicted! ANd scarred from the damn war that you-It Will only make it worse!”

“England swears by it. And Germany. It may actually have its merits...”

It was a trap. And Romano was walking straight into it. And he didn't care.

“I” Yes, straight in “Fine you bastard! I´ll-I´ll do what you want. I´ll get out of Austria´s home. I- Just let me fucking deal with him, Okay? Don´t fucking touch him!”

Oh well, the defeat had come faster and harder than either of them had predicted. Romano was aware as soon as he was done talking that he had laid himself at France's feet, practically, but he couldn't regret it. He wasn't even ashamed. He knew that he was playing right into France's hands, but he couldn't care less.

“So, am I hearing a promise to conspiracy here? Will you work to betray Austria and move in with me?”

Moving in with France...The idea gave him cold sweats. The voice of his boss came to mind, “don't leave Austria´s house” he had warned, “stay by Roderich.” A loud sound from upstairs came, something like a second slap, a scrub, another object falling. 

“Yes!” Lovino spat, closing his eyes as if that would keep him from hearing his own words “I-I will do it. I-will move in with you, fuck fuck fuck! I will even accept your damn dynasty and-" A breath too close to his face made him open his eyes. France's face was impossibly close. Romano jumped back, cursing and yelling, but Francis just gave him a crooked smile, and took one finger to his mouth, demanding silence. Romano did as he was told, slowly realizing the situation he had gotten into.

“Say it” France whispered”

“What? No! I´m!-”

“Say it, or there is no deal”

“...”

“I won't be accused of an unwanted invasion, Romano. As I said, if you don't want to take care of the brat I can always lock him up in a basement until he is old enough to take a good canning without fainting, and learn his place.” France faked hurt. He was enjoying this oh so much!

Romano gulped air. France wouldn't do that. Not for real. He was sure. Positive. He knew for a fact that he wouldn't. There was no point in him being there. This kid wasn't Spain, it wasn't his Spain. Staying close to the kid would only feed a false hope, a delusion. It would only hurt them both. He could never heal with that illusion, that fantasy with sunny, bright smiles and chubby cheeks by his side to remind him every day of the man that was not there anymore. Being with France was a terrible decision, and trying to cling to the image of what he'd lost was worse.

He sank one knee to the ground nevertheless, bowing his head in front of the nation he despised the most.

“France, I ask you to take me over.”

“You can do better than that.”

Lovino wanted to spit on Francis’s face, His brain told him to leave, to gather his remaining dignity and run out, heal and forget. From the upper floor little Antonio had not stopped crying yet, loud and heartbreaking. Lovino did not want to forget. He wanted to give back.

“Please. France.” He forced out through his teeth, still on his knee “Please. Take me over. Get your dynasty in me too”.

Lovino felt France´s fingers brushing his hair.

”You understand that you will be nothing more than a glorified nanny, right? Spain is mine, You´ll take care of him when I want you to, and when I say so you´ll step back. Are we clear?”

Lovino nodded, something caught in his throat.

"You won´t touch him, tough, right?"

"No. Unless he, or you, attack me directly, I won´t. Deal?"

Oh Madonna! What was he doing?

"Deal"

“In that case, Dear Romano, I´ll love to get my dynasty as deep into you as you can take it.” France admitted playfully “But I must say, there is something really fucked up with wanting to fuck a man, and then wanting to change his diapers as a kid” 

Romano closed his eyes, the blow hitting right in the heart. 

“Now, let's go somewhere private, so you can show me closely all the ports under that shirt. I need to check what I'm getting first.”

An hour later Romano escaped the palace he had once loved, his pride and self-respect crushed to dust, feeling dirty to the core. He wanted to rub his skin raw in the closest body of water. He had come there to stand for himself and show France that he'd never have him. Instead, he was running home like a thief in the night before Austria noticed his absence and had Lovino starved for a week. 

Destiny had a twisted sense of humor. 

Meanwhile, around Spain´s home no neighbor slept that night due to the noise of broken plates and wanton destruction, and the voice of a very furious France.

“This isn't even my house! It is yours, idiot! What is wrong with you? You are wrecking your own place!”

“Gah!”

“Don't you care about yourself? You idiotic little terror?

The kid stared at France right in the eyes, as if he understood the question, and dropped the last plate to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the dismantling+ retiring of funding to the Spanish naval force by the Bourbon dynasty, due to the (very unreasonable) expectation of the French navy to be able to take its place, and to the (very very reasonable) fear the navy would rebel and bring Austria back for a second round of fighting.


	3. Strong Preference

“Here comes a boat!”

The kid sealed his mouth by biting his lips, and turned his head, stubbornly

“Here comes a bird!” Lovino tried making ridiculous motions with the spoon in the air, desperately hoping to distract the kid enough to get a mercy mout opening.

No, he didn't even look.

“Here comes a horse!”

Still no.

“A bull? A toro? Mooooouuuuu? Open your mouth dammit! You need to eat something” still, no way

Romano banged his head against the table, absolutely desperate. Antonio chucked, and pulled a bit on the adult´s hair, very amused. 

After more than three hours trying to get the brat to eat his lunch, and a floor carpeted with food, Lovino gave up, hoping that the little bites he had managed to get through and into him would be enough. Lovino wanted to sleep, desperately, and Antonio wanted to go out, his attention caught by a butterfly flying across the window. Lovino said no. Antonio cried. They both went outside.

Outside, Antonio wanted to touch the flowers, new things for him he had not seen before. Lovino didn't want to risk it, there were bees everywhere and he really didn't want to get his shoes dirty. Antonio cried. They both went to watch the flowers. 

While outside, Antonio got distracted by frogs, grasshoppers, and all living critters he wanted to chase with his amazing crawling skills. Lovino said no way, he didn't want to clean the clothes covered in grass stains. Antonio pouted. They both spent an hour chasing disgusting critters. Lovino would spend a big part of the night scrubbing grass stains.

That was a very average day for them. Antonio snaked all day, pointing at different sweets he should not be eating and getting Romano to comply with the strength of his lungs and his crocodile tears. By the end of the day Romano was exhausted, holding on to his glass of wine like a lifeline, with his brother observing him with deep concern, and Antonio in his tall chair, refusing sternly to eat dinner and finding great amusement in it all.

“You are spoiling him, Lovi. Spoiling him rotten. This can't end well. Kids need limits.”

“Spain spoiled me and I turned out alright.” Lovino mumbled, earning an incredulous gaze from his brother.

“Did you, though...?” 

Well, fair point.

“But he is Spain!” Lovino wined, trying to justify himself “I mean-I know he isn't Spain , and he is a baby, and babies cry, but! -He is Spain okay? Even if he isn´t!, and Spain crying is just-it feels damn wrong!” 

Romano waved his hands over his head, trying to get his brother to understand the cosmic impossibility to reconcile a crying creature and Spain, and why Lovino could not be expected to allow it to happen. Feliciano nodded, unimpressed, and studied him meditatively, making his words as loaded with meaning as he humanly could.

“So, you give him everything he wants, so he doesn't cry?” 

Sure, Romano would get what he was implying, right? The eldest just waved his hands again, at the brink of despair 

“No! Sometimes I don´t know what he wants! And that drives me crazy! Like now! Why won't he eat??”

Antonio cooed and smiled. Italy just queried a brow and stared with face of circumstances.

“Ehm, Roma...you do understand that this is no way to raise a kid, right?”

“What else do you want me to do?!”

“Uhm, give the kid some limits? Show some authority? Not spoil him? Maybe?”  
“But you don't bloody understand Feliciano! You don't get it! Fuck you just fucking don´t! It isn't so damn simple! This-I can´t-” 

At this point Romano was shaking his brother with both hands, Feliciano was moving back and forth like a maraca and he was sure that his brain was starting to make noise. He stopped his brother the best he could and forced Romano 

“Well, explain it to me, then” Romano´s eyes were circled in black like a panda, and opened wide, unfocussed by despair and lack of sleep.

“He is Spain. He must not be crying.” he deadpanned, as if it was the most basic fact in the universe. He knew that Antonio wasn´t always happy, but he never cried. Never broke down. He always kept it together. Except when he did. Once. Lovino had been powerless to help him then. He was powerless to help in general. Just as he had been powerless to avoid-

“He isn't though…” Feli reminded him, as soft and compassionate as he could. Lovino's gaze got lost in some distant time "He is not that Spain".

“I know…but...they even smile the same, Feli. The way they laugh, it sounds the same.”

“I see…” Feliciano nodded very slowly, and peeled his brother´s crisped hands from his shoulders. “ You know what? I think you are not in any condition to care for him right now”

“But-!”  
“No buts. It is all too recent for you. You are going to spoil him rotten and I don't want a spoiled kid living next door to us.”

“No! You can't take him from me! Not again!”

“Roma. calm down! Nobody is stealing him. You are going to go get a shower, and I'm going to take him to my house and take care of him from now on, okay?”

“But!”

“But nothing. Romano, Big Brother always liked me. I bet this one will like me too! I will take care of this! Don't worry! You can visit us as often as you want!”

“B-but” Romano mumbled, sloppily, and his brother pushed him upstairs. Unable to resist the perfect arguments of Feliciano, he found himself allowing himself to be pushed, and then standing in front of the bathroom door like a reanimated zombi, like a plastic plant, unseeing and unmoving while Feliciano took the kid from the little kitchen chair, retrieved a bag of caretaking objects from the thrill self in the living room- Romano could hear it all, even the child´s amused coos at Feil's attentions- and left with it all, closing the door behind him, and leaving the house childless, and bottleless, and pacifierless, and a big, huge Spain-shaped hole in Romano´s heart. 

Now he could have a shower in peace, and eat in peace, and have peace and quiet, and maybe mourn the death of his friend, his guide, his lifelong love properly. Feliciano was right, the way he was using the kid to distract himself from his pain wasn't healthy. He wasn't Antonio, or...He wasn't the old Antonio, but he was so similar, so damn similar, in everything, his laugh, his eyes, even that hell of a temper…- but it wasn´t him, he was gone, and Romano needed to admit it. Feliciano was right, whatever he was doing, whatever feelings he was directed to a freaking toddler...it wasn't healthy. Feli would do a better job taking care of him. He always did a better job at everything. 

From the street, a blood-curdling scream and hysterical crying ripped through the closed windows. Little Antonio must have noticed that Feli wasn't taking him for a stroll, but was taking him away, and was desperately crying and screaming, and judging by Feil's occasional cry also fighting like a wildcat. Romano found himself crying on the floor of his shower as the screams grew further and further.

Two weeks later, in the early morning, the door of Romano's house was all but kicked open, a fuming Italian stormed in, a baby in his arms.

“I give up!” Italy screamed, looking like fury itself “ He is impossible!”

Romano emerged from the kitchen to ask what was going on but before he could even open his mouth Italy shoved the little Kingdom of Spain right into his arms, and Romano found himself making equilibriums to hold the wooden cooking fork, the burning pan, and the kid at once.

“Gah!” Little Antonio exclaimed celebratory, when he found himself back in Romano´s arms. He looked like a Cheshire cat. 

From behind him, Italy was panting like a furious bull, nostrils dilated, face red with frustration and eyebags so deep it was clear he had not slept since he left.

“He won't eat! He won't eat anything! He won't take baths. He kicks, he bites! He is an ungrateful little brat! He stays up until three in the damn morning making noise! I never thought I would say this, but he is even more stubborn than you!! I tried to clean his streets and he attacked my guards! I tried to put a light in his room, and he broke every lamp! I gave him a minister, like France said, to help him fix his messes, and the second I turned my back, do you know what he does?”

“I-”

“He throws him out the window!”

“Gah!Gah!” Antonio confirmed, very proud of himself.

“Twice!”

Italy threw his arms in the air, all his good nature gone to hell, and turned around 

“Do whatever you want with that monster! I don´t care! You can´t make him any worse than he already is!”

Romano blinked, in puzzlement, as the door of his own house was slammed behind Feli.

“What the fuck…?” 

His eyes traveled back down, to the smiley face looking straight at him, sunny grin on, bright eyes filled with laughter, as if he had no need to sleep.

“Gah!” The kid exclaimed, lighting up the room with his smile and opening his arms in the air, as to offer a hug. Half a second of that smile and Romano´s heart was a melted mess at the kid´s feet. 

“God, you are a nightmare.” he whispers through the soft, crooked smile, wrapping the child in his arms tenderly. The small body curled against his chest, he seemed to fit exactly in the gaping hole in Lovino´s heart, like a key in a lock hole, making the pain that drove him mad go away. Romano felt like he could breathe again. He held little Toni like that, feeling at peace, at least since he lost everything, feeling complete, alive, as crazy as that was. He kept time frozen in this swirl of warm emotions until the kid´s giggling brought him back to reality. The ornaments around Lovino´s jacket were ticking his nose.

“You were trying to get him to bring you back, weren't you, little scoundrel?”

“Gah!” The child answered. Lovino knew he couldn't understand him, and had no real reason to do so. This wasn't Spain, not his Spain, but still...still...

“Well, I guess you haven't had dinner, have you?”

The toddler made a face that said this wasn't what he was looking forward to do once hack home. Lovino had to laugh. He had to laugh because his heart was full of love and the kid was a nightmare and what other choice did he have?

Dinner went as expected. Terribly. Five hours after that Romano had fallen asleep on the kitchen table, his face spared the humiliation of falling on the plate of puré by mere inches. Spain, who has escaped the tall chair that was supposed to keep him in place, has managed to crawl on the table and is now teaching himself how to hold a spoon and using it to feed the sleeping Italian. The kid whispered “MOOOOUUUUU” softly as he flew the spoon clumsily through the air to land it in Lovino´s half open mouth, half of the pure ending inside and swallowed by the half asleep adult, the other half sliding down his chin. 

Romano was at a loss. In a rare but needed struck of humility, he mentally went over anyone who could help him out, because for all his sweetness and luminous smiles, little Antonio was still a bloody nightmare. There was only one nation Lovino trusted to know Spain nearly as well as Lovino needed, and despite wars, treasons and nightmares, he chose to swallow his pride and do the best for the child.

Lovino was in front of Austria´s home, Austro-Hungary to be exact, knocking at the door with. Little Spain was in his arms, happily entertained playing with his toy soldiers and shoving them on Lovino´s face of him to admire every three seconds.

He could hear the whispers at the other side, the spy-eye being consulted several times, and understood what the suspiciously long pauses before Hungary finally chose to open the door meant.

“Romano! What a surprise!” She didn´t seem murderously mad. Good. Lovino would have understood if she was.

“Hi. Need to talk to Austria. Now. Is he here?”

“Oh No, he isn't, he had to go to...some important meeting, somewhere.” She lied, unconvincingly.

“Coward.” 

Roderich was certainly hiding in some dark room of his house, avoiding seeing little Antonio like the plague. Lovino hated him for it right now, but not nearly as much or as deeply as he normally would. He understood. For Roderich seeing...this kid, who was and was not Antonio must be as confusing and soul breaking as it was for him. Both had been close back then, so close...Yeah, Lovino wasn't a fan of Austria´s choice to hide away, but he understood. 

Hungary must have seen something in his face. Maybe the loneliness, or the emotional toll of keeping his mind always divided in two. Maybe it was just the usual results of toddler induced sleeplessness, but whatever it was made her take pity on him.

“I may be able to help you, if you want.”

Lovino looked skeptical, but eventually sighed and nodded, accepting the invite to walk inside. After all, how could it possibly get worse?

“He won't eat! I'm desperate” Grumbled Lovino, sinking his face in his hands. Hungary observed, analytically. Spain seemed very happy in every occasion in which no spoon was being shoved in his face, totally oblivious to the drama he was creating.

“Hm...I see...So, he won't eat?”

“No!”

“No matter what it is that you feed him?”

“No! And then he will snack all the bloody day!”

“And you let him?” At that, Lovino looked away, red faced, and mumbled some unconvincing excuse about extenuating circumstances and superhuman persuasion powers. Hungary went back to looking at the kid, who was following the conversation with great interest, and throwing little balls of pure to the two adults whenever he felt they had forgotten of his existence for a bit too long.

“What do you do when he has eaten enough?” Romano scoffed. As if that happened!

“I try to go dress and get something bloody done.” The Italian grumbled.

“Hm!, that is the problem. You are punishing him if he eats quickly, and rewarding him for refusing to”

“What?” he snapped his head up “I'm not doing that! I want him to chug this disgusting thing, so I can do my fucking work!”

Hungary just looked at him calmly.

“Think about it from his point of view; the longer he takes to eat, the longer you´ll be paying attention to him; When he is done, you leave. Why would he eat fast?” 

Romano was about to yell. Not for anything in particular, he just was about to do it out of despair, but then the words sank in his brain gradually, slowly, painfully, like crystal powder under his skin. They started to make sense. So much sense… His insomniac eyes turned to observe little Spain, who was playing with the spoon and giggling, catapulting food here and there with enviable skill. Then he turned to Hungary. 

She was right. She was wise. She had fixed his misery, and performed a miracle. THE miracle. She was a genius. She was a Saint. She was the Holy Mary. She was God!

Romano dropped to his knees, in slow adoration, and started kissing her hands, devotedly, adoringly, madly, all the way up to her elbow. If she had stayed still long enough he would have built an altar under her very feet and started a cult. But the lack of attention irked Spain the wrong way and he decided to flip the plate and send it crashing to the floor. Less adoring other people and more playing with him!

Romano bowed to the new queen of his prayers and ran back to the brat´s side.

“Listen up, you little stinker!”

“Gah?”

“Yes, gah! Let's make a goddamn deal, shall we? If you eat, I will play with you when you are done. In the garden, or wherever you want. Are we clear?”

“Gah?”

“If you don't eat, I´m leaving! You hear me? I'm serious!” Antonio starred in suspicion, but against most expectations, he opened his mouth, which made Romano very happy until he realized that there was no plate on the table anymore. The italian turned cursing in all the languages he knew and got a new one, while Spain laughed his little butt of. Spain ate the new plate without fuss while Romano kept mumbling for himself, half praises, half curses, all mixed in an unintelligible string. Hungary, forgotten by all, left the room smiling. 

After eating Romano waved goodbye to his nap and fulfilled his promise, resigning himself to play with wooden horses and puppets in the living room. Antonio fell asleep within thirty minutes on the couch, head on Lovino´s stomach and thumb in his mouth. Romano fell less than two minutes after him, both sprawled on the floor of a home that wasn't theirs.

“He looks just like him, doesn't he?” Hungary whispered from the hallway.

Austria nodded, somber. He looked away far too quickly. Hungary saw her husband disappear from the corridors, unable to withstand whatever emotions the sight of the child stirred in him.


	4. All Good Things

Lovino grumbled as he wielded the broom furiously. Karma was a bitch, and that bitch was making him clean after Antonio all that he had refused to clean for two entire centuries.

“Coo!”

Antonio exclaimed from his chair. Lovino looked back and found nothing but a big grin on top of the tall chair, and two cunning eyes that screamed “I got yah!” Lovino snorted and went back to his task.

“Coo! Coo gah, gah!”

Lovino looked again. He found a silent Toni once more, who held his gaze for a second and burst in laughter, extending his arms and legs in the air with another sparkling “gotyah!” in his eyes. Lovino snorted again, and went back to his task, shaking his head. The little bugger was cute.

“Gah!gah! Gah! Coo-gah!”

Lovino knew what he’d find when he turned around, but it was worth it to see Antonio squirming and laughing in pleasure, that this silly little trap had worked once again. Lovino couldn't help but laugh a little through his teeth as well, which created a sparkle in Antonio’s eyes.

“Gah!”

“I have work, Toni” Lovino answered, the contagious grin of the kid growing on his face as he turned around and managed to continue his cleaning for all of three seconds.

“GoooGAH! Coo!”

“Seriously?”

The touch of irritation the Italian was planning on directing to the kid faded immediately as Lovino realized that, yeah, he had fallen for it again. Antonio was ecstatic and opened his arms in the air demanding to be hugged and picked up and squeezed-or so Lovino decided- while he laughed, which got Lovino to smile again, wide and warm and with his heart totally hostage in the kid´s small, sticky hands.

Lovino let out a little laugh through his teeth as his own smile started to creep in; he snorted and shook his head again. He took a breath and willed himself to focus on his work. What was he doing again? Ah! Yeah, cleaning soil, and sand, and leaves, and the multiple samples of everything under the sun Antonio´s crawling self had managed to drag into the house.

“Gah! Cou-gaah!gah!”

Lovino sighed and looked again, an amused smile in his face he no longer wanted to contain. Again, as he turned the sounds stopped and the kid was there just smiling. They had the shortest staring contest on Earth before Toni burst into laughter, a little, bubbly sound that filled the room. Lovino shook his head, laughing a bit, and moved towards him.

“What do you want here?”

“Ga-ah!, gah! Agh gah!” and a laugh, little hands opening and closing in the air, towards his direction.

“Ah, not happening. I'm busy right now!” But he himself had a grin the size of Palermo, and couldn't help it quite yet. He turned to continue cleaning but of course the string of noises came back again. Lovino found himself laughing through his teeth. He turned around feigning anger, ready to return the joke, but little Antonio just cooed and gaahed when he received attention again, not buying the anger for a second, and Lovino found himself laughing again.

“Okay, what is it, you little charmer you?” Lovino asked, grabbing the kid out of the chair and rubbing their noses together. Antonio gave a little squeak of joy and squirmed in delight when Lovino´s fingers tickled him.

“You just don't wanna let me work, right? It is a conspiracy!”

“Gah! Gah-ha,” and a high-pitched chuckle before a laugh, as Lovino lifted Toni up, rubbed their noses together once more, before separating their faces, as he lifted Toni in the air. Toni found this game hilarious and was letting the world know with excited hand motions.

“Aha! Not so cocky anymore? Are we? C´m here, I´m gonna eat you!”

“Gahhah!”

“No mercy for you!” Lovino threatened while pretending to eat Antonio's cheek and ear. The kid squeaks and bursts out laughing, until he is lifted up in the air again, above

Romano´s head.

“Gah!Gah! Gah gah!”

“There! Oh, no! I've left a bit here!”

“Gaaah!” Antonio screams excitedly, knowing what is coming as he is lowered down and Lovino pretends to eat him with kisses, the kid squirming and laughing and twisting again.

“Oh-ah-no!” Antonio exclaims smiling, when he is given a bit of a break and finds himself looking at his caretaker face to face.

“Ro-ma-no” The Italian corrects, heart pounding with joy and amusement

“O-na-no!!”

Romano chuckles, eyes sparkling

“Yeah. Close enough”

“O-Na-no!”

“Yes, Romano. Hey! I got a bit more here! I'm gonna eat that too! Namnamnamnamnam”

“GAH!!!” and another string of chuckles and laugh from Antonio that made Lovino laugh too. He was on his couch now, moving the kid up and down in the air, having little hands pressed and pushing all over his face and little feet against his chest.

“Oh-ma-no”

“Yeah. Romano, Toni” Lovino whispered tired, but blissed out of his freaking mind once the evening had gone by without him even noticing, tickling and laughing, his kid resting on his knees, smiling at him as if he was the world. He moved one of the locks out of the kid's face. “I should really get working...” Antonio pouted and jumped on Lovino´s chess, grabbing his shirt, still dirty with the leftovers of Antonio´s lunch, making himself comfortable there. Lovino sighed deeply, the big smile he found himself having on his face every single day lately settling there once again, as he closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of fullness in his chest, the exhaustion, and the echo of Toni´s laughter that still filled with light every corner of his place. “...Or maybe not,” he decided.

The house was a mess, his hair was a mess, his clothes were a mess too and even his diet had been reduced to eating the most basic things the kid could eat too, but life? Life was good. Life was good, full of love and full of laughter.

Lovino inhaled the fresh sea salt breeze. Seabirds sang overhead as the wind carried the faded sounds from the ports down below. The noise, a comfortable distance away, was not to disturb the grumpy Italians serenity. He took a sharp inhale as he picked a tomato from his garden and added it to the cloth lined wicker basket resting at his feet. The harvest proved kind this season. A plethora of ripe tomato vines climbed the back walls of his humble cottage. He wiggled his toes. The dewy grass caressing his bare feet. He wondered what he should make for lunch. His Toni always craved savory, sweet dishes. Spanish in origin, of course. He mused fondly that in the last forty years he has cooked more Spanish dishes here in his seaside cottage in the south of Italy than he had for the entirety of his life living with Antonio in the heart of Madrid.

He sighed contentedly as he pulled another plump red tomato from the vine. He hoisted his overflowing basket over his shoulder and began the short walk from his outside garden to his kitchen. He settled on something simple, pisto, for lunch. Toni delighted when he made it. He opened the wood door leading from the garden into the kitchen. He had felt his fisherman in the village below catch a big helping of fish from the Mediterranean earlier. Maybe he and Toni could walk into town and pick some up. Toni and he loved to visit town. They both reveled in the salty sea air and the bustle of merchants and fishermen shouting over each other, competing for clientele, in the overcrowded mark-

Squish.

Something gooey squished between Lovino’s toes. The young man wrinkled his nose as a putrid odor invaded his nostrils from below. He looked down to confirm his fears. His entire right foot buried under a massive pile of disgusting, smelly dung.

He let out a blood curdling scream. Hushed whispers carried from the living room adjacent.

“For fuck’s sake, Toni!!!” He cried.

From around the kitchen archway appeared the small child. In the last few decades, he had aged quite a bit. Growing from an infant to a young child of five, rather impressive for a previously war-torn country. Lovi wasn’t surprised. If Spain’s people were anything like their Empire, they knew how to make the best of a seemingly dismal situation.

Lovino, on the other hand, hadn’t changed much. It was clear to the Italian that, for all his claims to adore the Southern half of Italy, Francis and his dynasty did not make him a priority. Still Lovino was content to drudge along, he excelled at surviving, not thriving. And he was fine being a dynastic partner for the sake of remaining with the kid looking up at him, green eyes twinkling with gleeful mischief. Even if said child was the reason he had stepped in literal bullshit. Lovino tried not to ponder the metaphorical significance to his predicament.

“You shouldn’t curse,” The child reprimanded with a neutral expression on his face, as if nothing was amiss. As if Lovino’s face wasn’t red with rage. As if, somehow, Lovino hadn’t just stepped in the very evidence of the child’s wrongdoing. Incredulously, Lovino gawked at the child.

“You always tell me not to curse, Lovino,” Antonio deadpanned, playing it cool and calm, letting no cracks slip from his nonchalant expression.

“Shit!” Lovino faltered. “I mean, Fuck! I mean shit-!” Toni leaned his back against the archway, an impish smirk creeping along his cheeks.

In Lovino’s defense, he couldn’t help it. The world was so goddamned stupid he just had to curse. If he didn’t, Lovino honestly believed he would explode with all the pent-up frustration from daily idiocy. The great Spanish Empire disapproved of Lovino’s choice vocabulary, too. That arrogant, high and mighty, noble, prideful, amazingly wonderful person that Lovino missed terribly. He stopped himself. He tried not to think of the similarities, as plentiful as they might be, between his former caretaker and the young nation before him, especially when he was readying himself to berate the boy. But as the great Spanish Empire raised him, Lovi, in turn, raised Toni to not curse. At times like these, when the warm sensation of manure between his toes sent chills reverberating up his spine, Lovino wished he didn’t have to set the example as the guardian.

Lovino took a second to compose himself, muttering to the Madonna about how this child would be the death of him. 

“Alright,” he tried, pinching his brows together with his free hand. “Care to explain?”

“Explain what?” Toni said with all the innocence of a puppy.

Lovino gestured angrily to his shit-coated foot. Toni shrugged. Before Lovino released another string of curses, he heard a sound come from past the archway. 

“Was that a snort?” Lovino asked in disbelief. He definitely heard a snort.

“I didn’t hear anything.” The child put his hands behind his back and looked to the side. A fully grown Spanish bull materialized next to Toni in the archway, huffing and puffing. The bull’s murderous eyes landed on the red tomatoes Lovino still held. Its monstrous muscles rippled with energy as it violently exhaled, stomping its foot in preparation to charge. Lovino froze in terror.

“Fernando!” Antonio whined. Not picking up on the I will turn you into a pincushion vibes the bull emitted. “I told you to hide!”

The bull turned to Antonio, no longer set on running it’s massive horns through Lovino. The teen let out the breath he held. The creature nudged Antonio’s cheek apologetically with his snout as if to say, sorry I thought you needed back up. As if Lovino was the only rampaging danger in the dwelling. The Italian felt mildly insulted.

“Oh my god! Antonio, that’s a bull!” Lovino squeaked.

“Yeah, isn’t he cute?” Cute is not the word Lovino would use to describe the horrific beast that currently nuzzled his charge. Lovino blinked a few times.

“Where the fuck did you get a bull from?”

“You really shouldn’t curse.” Antonio tried to deflect, smiling innocently.

“Well, you shouldn’t bring home strange animals!”

“Fernando is not strange,” Toni defended. A pout forming on his lips “He is just big. And strong. And dangerous to strangers.”

“Where in the devil’s name did you even find a Spanish bull in my home?” Lovino exclaimed.

“From the merchants down below.” Toni pointed at the window framing a picturesque seaside view. “They stopped over on their way to Naples and Fernando… just looked so sad in that tiny little cage. I had to help him, Lovino!”

“You stole a bull?! For the Madonna’s sake, Toni.”

“No! Of course not!” Toni gesticulated wildly with his hands. “I asked them nicely. Very nicely. They were Spanish merchants. I just walked up to them and said ‘can I please have this bull? And they let Fernando come with me! Isn’t it wonderful?! My merchants are the best, we speak the same language and they always give me whatever I want without question.” Toni beamed.

Lovino frowned at the child’s explanation. Not finding it nearly as “wonderful” as Antonio did.

“Of course, I felt bad about taking away their cargo, so I gave them some of your yummy tomatoes as a thank you. Now Fernando and I can be together forever!” Antonio finished hugging Fernando around the neck for emphasis.

Lovino looked over to the corner. As Toni promised, his proud pile of tomatoes freshly harvested that morning had vanished, leaving only a half-squashed tomato in the spot where the pile had once stood. Fernando had walked over and ate it, looking Lovino in the eye as he slowly chewed. 

“Aw, Look he likes your Tomatoes, too!” Toni stroked Fernando on the head. “Please, Lovino! Can we keep him?

The caretaker frowned. He looked up to the straw ceiling as if beseeching god for help. Honestly, he should have seen this coming. Both Antonios loved plants and animals. The other Antonio had spent two centuries cataloguing plants and critters in the Americas, drawing every new plant and animal he found, learning them, studying them inside and out... Lovino had noticed the similarity in little Antonio's clumsy drawings of the plants and creatures of the garden, and on his interest in the neighbor's farms. He even noticed the child taking more frequent and longer walks along the farm market over the last few weeks, which he attributed to an innocent enjoyment of the outdoors. He should have seen past Antonio's seemingly harmless actions to realize the kid always had a plan.

Oh, sure it had started small, Toni had brought home a frog, Francis. Lovi laughed so hard his face turned red and he may have forgotten to tell the child no.

Next, it was Machiavelli, the turtle. Lovino felt too guilty to say no after a poorly placed comment about turtle soup had nearly brought the child to tears, dammit.

After came the bunny, Pelusa. Toni had asked him what he had against small furry animals and since he couldn’t name anything immediately abhorrent about the adorable little fuzzball, Lovino conceded. Antonio cried for hours after a fox carried Pelusa away. Lovino had had a long talk with the child about life and death as Antonio sat on his lap alternating between sobbing and biting the churros Lovino fried out of pity. The next day, Antonio brought home the very same fox that ate Pelusa; a thin, pathetic creature covered in fleas. Antonio named it Don Quixote, and claimed the poor thing was clearly starving and in need of love, and that the best way to honor Pelusa’s memory was by caring for the fox that ate her. It didn’t make sense to Lovino, but the idea cheered Antonio up, so the older boy let it slide, and three weeks later Don Quixote trotted after Antonio wherever he went, sporting the silkiest coat and roundest beer belly Lovino had ever seen in a fox.

Then came the cats, Juana and Catharine. Toni claimed victory when he very logically brought up their mouse problem. What? Lovino hated mice eating up all his good cheese.

Then their Spanish terrier, Rodrigo, had joined them after Toni claimed he rescued the dog from an abusive owner. It wasn’t like Lovino could turn down two sets of puppy eyes! Lovino still wasn’t sure how Toni convinced him the goat, Maria, was a good idea. But hey, who didn’t like fresh goat milk in the morning?

Now the child with that same hopeful expression he wore all the other times he asked Lovino “can we keep him” was staring at him, expectantly. He looked over at the snorting bull, it’s sharp curvy horns glinting as they caught the sunlight. He winced a little. Then back to Toni with his too big, too sincere, and too innocent eyes.…

“No way in hell.” Lovino spat. And he meant it this time.

“But-”

“Antonio Fernandez Carriedo!” Antonio flinched at the use of his full name, realizing he finally reached the end of Lovino’s remarkably short patience.

Toni looked as if Lovino had smacked him.

“Oh, okay. C’mon Fernando.'' Antonio sniffed and frowned.

Lovino felt awful. His Toni should never look that… disappointed. Antonio’s face should never be that upset and especially never, ever by the Italian’s own doing. The sight of it softened Lovino’s hostility.

The child guided Fernando back toward the limestone doorway. Shoulders hunched over in defeat. With his back facing the kitchen, Lovino failed to see Antonio’s knowing grin.

Lovino bit his lip.

“Wait.” Lovino called. Was he really going to do this?

Antonio paused in the archway. Perfect. The child made certain to plaster on a cartoonish frown before turning to face his caretaker.

Lovino looked unsure of what to do. Antonio inwardly cheered. He knew exactly how to play this. The devious child brought his hand to his eye, wiping away crocodile tears.

“Jesus Christ, Toni! Okay fine!” Lovino threw his hand up in annoyed resignation.

“Thanks, Lovi!” he ran over and hugged Lovino’s waist.

“Fine. Great. Now, get off.” Lovino clipped. Fernando licked Lovino’s head. This would take some adjustment. But, Lovino smiled, in spite of himself. How could he not when his little Toni looked as if Lovino had just given him a treasure.

“Go get me a water bucket and some rags, we gotta clean this mess up,” Lovino ordered.

“Right,” Antonio agreed, and ran to obey.

“See? I told you he'd give in.” Lovino heard him whispering in the ear of his new pet.

Antonio spent the remainder of the afternoon playing with Fernando. He lightly sidestepped the bulls attacks, using a ratty old kitchen cloth as a cloak to attract the bull’s eye. The flurry of the tattered rag emphasized each of Toni’s skillful steps. Their little farm watched on in rapt attention at Toni’s delinquent grace against the bulls power and speed. Maria even stopped her ceaseless assault on Lovi’s garden long enough to spectate. The cats, perched on the window sill, half-watched Toni. Occasionally, moving their lazy eyes to check the progress of Lovino’s cooking.

“What! Good food takes time. Have you ever heard that a watched pot never boils, Juana?” Lovino taunted at the cat. Juana blinked at him lazily before returning her attention back to the games.

At a particularly fast charge, Toni had leapt high into the air, twisting like an acrobat, before landing saddle style on the bulls' back. The creature snarled and bucked, but Toni stayed strong, riding Fernando like a horse. Carlos barked, jogging along excitedly. Don Quixote skipped not far behind.

Had Toni been any other human child, or child nation for that matter, Lovino might have thought twice about letting him get repeatedly charged by a raging bull. But Toni was no child, he was Spain and daring bull games, just like music, unyielding pride and convincing the intractable Italian to agree to host a small farm in his quaint seaside cottage coursed through his blood.

Lovino held the pot up to the cats.

“Smells good, huh kitty?” Lovino teased. Juana leapt off the sill, as if knowing Lovino was right but not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Lovino stepped outside, holding two plates. Juana and Catherine pranced along.

“Lunch’s ready!” he called out.

Toni excitedly hopped off of Fernando and bolted to the stone steps that Lovino sat on. The child plopped down beside him. Lovino handed Antonio his portion. The herd congregated around the duo. The greedy little critters probably hoped the generous Toni would share his food with them. He always did and Lovino gave him an extra big helping for that very reason.

“Smells great!” Antonio announced after a deep inhale.

But before either of them could enjoy the first bite of Lovino’s delicious cooking, the child spotted something.

“What’s that?”

Lovino looked up, fork halfway to his parted lips. In the distance, he made out a group of men in uniform swiftly approaching on horseback. One man distinguished himself by galloping ahead of the others. This person Lovino prayed would fall off his horse, or at the very least turn around. But his prayers, as usual, went unanswered.

“Shit.” Lovino said, setting down his fork. The Italian rose to meet the trespassers.

“You really shouldn’t curse.”

Lovino placed a hand on Antonio’s tiny shoulder, brushing aside the embarrassment from a memory of firm, tanned biceps. The gesture seemed meant to comfort. Whether intended for Antonio or himself, Lovino couldn’t tell.

The galloping party grew larger, as the horses whinnied louder. Lovino’s grip on Antonio’s arm tightened. Antonio frowned, picking up on the elder’s agitation. He looked around, discreetly, locating all the sharp objects he could use to defend them both if it became necessary.

The teen leading the charge waived zealously.

“Fratello!” The Italian exclaimed happily as his horse increased its pace. Dirt and dust flew into the air as Feliciano dropped from his horse. He flung himself at Lovino.

“It’s been too long, Lovi!” He kissed both of Lovino’s cheeks.

“Hi, Feli.” Lovino returned, unenthusiastically. Gently trying to pry his overly touchy-feely brother off of him, but Feliciano hung on tighter than an octopus.

“Feli!” Toni beamed, dropping the bread knife he had sneaked and jumping into Italy´s arms. Lovino tried not to feel overly jealous at the excited note in Antonio’s voice. Antonio liked everyone, always with his big smiles and chatty tongue.

“Ve! Little Toni, too! Oh, you look so cute!” Feliciano finally released Lovino in favor of bending over to pinch Antonio’s cheeks.

The two Neapolitan guards in colorful stripes, parachute pants and oversized, feathered hats of their uniforms dismounted to stand beside Feli. They bowed to Lovino who glared at them as they shriveled closer to Feliciano.

Lovino turned to his brother, still assaulting Antonio’s smarting cheek.

“Why are you here?” he accused more so than asked.

Feli released his pincher, rising to meet Lovino’s eyes. Antonio rubbed the spot, still grinning.

“C’mon, Fertello. You left without even saying goodbye, your king was up in arms about your sudden disappearance and now you don’t seem happy to see me at all! Did you even miss me?”

Feliciano seemed genuinely hurt. Normally, Lovino enjoyed his brother’s visits. He usually uncorked a bottle of wine, set out a lovely cheese board with all their favorites to snack on while the brothers exchanged gossip about the various European nobility. But Lovino had left the palace in part to get away from his brother, who seemed to be aligning himself closer with France each passing decade. Between Francis’s, his brother’s and his king’s growing demands and Toni’s restlessness regarding being locked up in a stuffy palace all day with nothing but a snooty French tutor for entertainment, Lovino thought it best to take the kid and run to the furthest, most remote spot he knew of. Apparently, though, Feliciano tracked like a bloodhound. He and Toni had barely been gone three months.

Wait! Antonio had managed to manipulate him into so many pets in just three months? What the f-? God, he was a sucker...

“Aw! Don’t be sad, Feli. We’re happy to see you!” Antonio cheered as Juana leaped into his arms.

Feliciano pet the kitty. Of course, Juana purposely refrained from biting his younger brother’s hand. “Ve, Thank you, Toni!”

“Why are you here?” Lovino interrupted. “You wouldn’t come this far south just to chit-chat.”

The corners of Feliciano’s too big smile fell. The younger Italian gestured to the guard, who spent too, too long digging in his riding satchel before pulling out a piece of parchment. Lovino rolled his eyes. The guard handed the paper to Feli.

“Thank you.” Feliciano held the paper out to Lovino. Lovino reached his hand forward, but right before his grip settled, Feli suddenly pulled the paper away, distracted.

“Hey!” Feleciano sniffed the air.

“What smells so good?” he looked over to Toni who had begun spoon feeding Juana some of his food.

“It’s pisto! Lovi makes the best!” He shoveled a spoonful into his mouth to further sell his point.

“Toni, didn’t I tell you to stop with that? If she wants to eat, she can stick her face in the bowl and start chewing.” Lovino scolded.

“But Lovi,” Antonio whined, “She has trouble with the bigger pieces. I’m just helping a little.” Antonio wiped the excess sauce from the cat's mouth. Lovino wasn’t sure who was the bigger sap, Toni or him. He thought, smiling fondly at the child. No, scratch that, he did know, he just refused to admit it.

Feliciano’s stomach growled as he longingly watched Toni eat another bite. Lovino rolled his eyes and shoved his uneaten plate toward Feliciano, before running inside to set more servings around the table for his hungry looking guards. These people were useless and easily distractible on an empty stomach. Best to stick some food in their gullets.

“Well? You coming or what?” Lovino called from the kitchen window. The guards shoved each other out of the way in their haste to be fed. They all sat and ate inside.

Luckily Toni and he had taken care of Fernando’s oh-so-kind arrival present. But they kept all the doors and windows open for fear of the smell returning. Also, because Toni felt bad when one of their spoiled animals barked or meowed or snorted or whatever noise they made when they were butt hurt about not being let in. Lovino felt slightly bad too. But like hell he’d let Juana know that.

“Really good, Fratello!” Feliciano beamed as he started on the second serving Lovino place before him.

“Mmmf-mmm” One of his guards agreed with a mouth full of food, sauce dribbling from his lips. The other guard kept his face shoved in his plate, Lovino took that as a complement.

Through the window, Lovino supervised Antonio feeding the leftovers to Fernando, whose surprising bashfulness evidently prevented him from running up to Toni to demand food like their other pets. In Fernando’s defense, Maria could be scary when hungry.

Lovino assured himself of Antonio’s safety and comfort for what seemed like the billionth time. His brother's presence here made him somewhat uneasy and reminding himself that Antonio played within eyeshot soothed Lovino.

“Why did you come?” He asked, slightly distracted by the tender smile on Antonio’s face. Despite his worries, it had been a good day, Antonio seemed happy with their new pet and a surprise visit from Feli proved entertaining, at least. Hell, his fratellino even complimented his cooking, that almost never happened. Out of the two of them, Feli proved the bigger food snob. Maybe his anxieties were unwarranted. Maybe his brother just came here to forward Lovino’s mail as a kind gesture.

Feli hurriedly slurped down the stew. He smacked his hand to his forehead.

“I forgot all about it! Oh, no!” He whined. Tomato sauce stained the corner of his lip.

“It’s fine. Just tell me now.” Lovino said, rolling his eyes. His brother could be a complete child sometimes. Lovino licked his thumb and swiped away the sauce on his little brother’s cheek.

“Well. Fertello. I’m scared to give it to you. Because it’s... kind of important and I don’t want you to be mad at me.” Feliciano blinked watery eyes.

“...Feli,” Lovino began, voice painfully steady in an effort to withhold his frustration. “You need to tell me important things. Especially if it’s about my lands or people. What is it? Did the queen lose her crown or something?” If that was the case, this time he’d stable the damn thing to her head. He hoped his excitable people were bothering him for something stupid. Stupid things meant a big, unnecessary headache, but were easy to solve and ultimately less trouble down the line.

“It’s worse than that. You’ll see for yourself. Where did I put that paper again?” Feli looked over to the guards.

“Uh-oh!”

The larger of the two had mistaken the important document for a napkin. He handed the tomato sauce stained document sheepishly toward Feli.

“Grazie.” the bubbly boy thanked the guard with a smile. Feli held the papers out to Lovino, before abruptly swiping it out of reach.

“Promise me you won’t get mad.” he pleaded.

“Give it here, Feli!” Lovino demanded. He lunged, but Feli easily dodged. Lovino gripped the air.

“Feliciano!”

“Promise you won’t be mad, first.” His brother insisted. His brother could be a complete child one minute and a cunning weaseler the next. Lovino hated playing into his tricks. But if a major issue presented itself, better Lovino address it.

The guards stopped chewing, exchanged a look and watched the brothers, terrified of the bloodbath about to unfold.

“Fine. Whatever.” He capitulated. Feli presented the papers with a triumphant smile.

Lovino swiped it angrily from his hands as the guards flinched.

He huffed, unfolding the paper and examining it. His eyes grew wider as his pupils walked along the page. Feli and the bigger guard ducked behind the much smaller guard, who held up his licked-clean bowl as a makeshift shield.

Lovino raised his head, frowning slightly as if perplexed. No indication he wanted to murder anyone. The three italians breathed a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, Lovino wringed the paper in hands as if trying to strangle someone, sauce stains eerily similar to blood. He fought the overwhelming urge to slap the stupidity out of the idiots before him.

“FUUUUUUUUUCK!” Lovino elongated the vowel. The chair screeched against the floor as he shot up. “FUCK! SHIT! FUCKING SHIT! FUCK! FUCK YOU, FELICIANO! YOU STUPID SON OF A WHORE! YOU LITTLE, GOOD FOR NOTHING PIECE OF COW SHIT!!!” Anger sizzled off him like water vaporizing on the surface of a pot.

The smallest guard dropped his bowl. Porcelain shards darting across the floor. He scrambled and held up a chipped teacup for protection.

Lovino panted, hard. Feli peeked his head out from under the table. Lovino inhaled deeply.

“HOW COULD YOU WAIT SO LONG BEFORE TELLING ME?!” he screamed. Feli retreated under the table. Lovino panted, chest heaving, before sucking in breath.

“AND YOU TWO-” he growled. The two guards tripped over one another to join Feliciano. Seeing his own man coward away from him like scared little girls, somehow pissed him off more. He kicked over the table.

He stomped about, cursing and yelling. He stepped over the shattered porcelain, not noticing where it landed in his rampage. The shard embedded itself deep into the soul of Lovino’s barefoot.

“OW! SHIT! FUCK!” The teen hopped around on one leg, cradling his other foot in his hands. He ripped the shard from his foot. Howling as blood streamed between his knuckles.

“FUCK THIS! FUCK YOU! AND FUCK ME!” He teen was literally hopping mad, trying to make his way out the door and to the nearby water pump, his pain redirecting his anger away from the relieved Italians.

“Are you okay?” Feli called meekly from the doorway, but his concern went unnoticed. Lovino tripped in the dirt, staggering back to his feet. The trio of absolute stupidity watched uselessly.

“Fuck!” He yanked the handle of the water pump. Thrusting it up and down with unnecessary force. Icy liquid splashed into the bucket waiting below. Lovino plunged his foot into the water, the cooling liquid quelled the sting. He collapsed to the ground. Lying on his back, knees bent.

“Fuck”

Antonio ran over wielding Lovino’s missing shovel like a dagger, he peered down at the teen. “I heard screaming,” he explained 

“YOUR FUCKING FIVE! STOP HIDING WEAPONS AROUND THE FUCKING HOUSE!”

Antonio blinked, completely unphased by Lovino’s violent outburst, he lowered the shovel.

“I thought I was forty?” he replied, nonchalantly. Dropping to sit beside Lovino.

Despite himself, Lovino snickered. Antonio pulled grass from the roots and sprinkled the green strands over Lovino’s cheeks, attempting to cool Lovino’s temper.

“You know what I meant.” Lovino shifted to rest on his forearms. The grass blades cascading off his face. Antonio made a noise.

“Are you okay though?” Lovino ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m fine, but we gotta go.”

“Into town?”

“No, back to Naples. We are leaving as soon as your packed.”

“Do we have to?” Antonio moaned. “It’s just that Naples -”

“Watch what you say about my city!” Lovino warned, his anger had quelled, but not completely vanished. He still fumed within, understanding Toni’s hesitancy. Antonio appreciated the outdoors, he’d rather surround himself with the company of wild animals than nobility. Lovino would take wild animals any day.

Lovino cut the air with his hand. “No argument this time, Toni. Head inside. Now.” He knew when he could and couldn’t push his guardian.

Antonio stood up, he hesitated. A question of concern forming on his lips. But before he could speak, Lovino started up again.

“What are you waiting for? A royal invitation. My king ain’t gonna send one. Get your butt in gear!” Lovino snapped.

Antonio scrambled behind the doorway. “What happened to Lovino?” Antonio asked a traumatized Feliciano.

“Oh, he gets like this when Francis is about to visit, sometimes. He’s a little stressed.”

They heard Lovino’s disembodied curses.

“Francis.” Antonio tasted the name. It sounded oddly familiar. Yet he struggled to place it. “Do I know him?” Feli nodded, dumbly.

“He’s sort of our big brother.” Feli praised.

“The blonde that visits sometimes." Lovino reminded him "Fucking drunk-ass, good for nothing bastard!”

"Oh. I remember now! You don't like him."

"Damn right!" Lovino yelled to no one in particular, stomping inside the cottage. He turned his murderous glare on the dawdling duo. Antonio and Feli flinched.

“What are you doing? We gotta move, now!!! You think we have all the time in the world to dilly dally like fucking sheep in the field!” Feli snapped to attention like a chided soldier. “Feliciano make yourself useful and help Toni pack.” Feli quickly grabbed the child’s wrist, and whisked him away to the bedroom.

“You two,” Lovino barked at the guards. “Do something helpful for once! Eh?”

The packing went relatively quickly, Toni and Lovino came with few possessions, easier to travel that way. In their time at the cottage, Antonio amassed a lovely collection of herbs and wildflowers he pressed dry with the old books of Spanish and Italian fairy tales Lovino kept out of sentiment.

Lovino placed the final book in the chest, an old bible so full of plant life samples it barely closed. He shut the chest and sat on its lid with a sigh. All that was left now was to wait for Feli and the guards to return with the wagon they promised to retrieve from Lovino’s neighbor. After the stunt they pulled on Lovino, it was the least they could do. Old Strega Nona must be giving them an earful. That old bat had lost her whits years ago, but still managed to ramble on and on.

Antonio sat melancholic on the stripped, straw-stuffed mattress, petting Rodrigo absentmindedly.

“Don’t look so sad.” Lovino tried. “We’ll come back.” He hoped. He was doubtful after his abrupt disappearance if another opportunity to slip unattended out of Naples would present itself. Maybe in another forty years or so.

“I’m gonna miss them,” Antonio sighed. Don Quixote nuzzled against Antonio. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

“Coarse they will!” Lovino reassured. “You taught them how to be strong.”

Catherine meowed. He heard Maria make a goat noise, her head emerging from the window. Juana rubbed against Lovino’s leg. It seems their long-term feud had resolved itself with a happy end.

“Can Fernando come with us?” Antonio asked.

“To the palace? Toni, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Lovino didn’t imagine his king could manage a half-ton bull and Lovino and Antonio all under the same roof.

“Please. He can sleep in my room.” he pleaded. “It’s just… I don’t want him to be all alone in a strange land. He only speaks Spanish.”

Lovino looked into those damned eyes of Antonio. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the Spanish Empire, consumed his entire world growing up. He wanted to give this new Antonio everything, but no matter how much he may want to, he couldn’t, probably could never. A bull seemed like a fair compromise.

“He’ll sleep in the stables.” Lovino agreed.

“Thanks, Lovi.” Toni managed to speak that simple phrase with such sincerity and gratitude, thinking about it later would help during the eminent tongue lashing by his king.

An impatient knock on the door interrupted the tender moment.

“I’ll get it.” Antonio sprinted for the door. Lovino shook his head. He’d never understand the excitement with little kids and answering the door. Even though at Toni’s age, he’d done the exact same thing. The former Antonio constantly berated him as being reckless. You never know which of your enemies could be hiding behind a closed door, you should never be so eager to greet a foe he heard Antonio’s deep voice reply in his mind. But whatever, kids would be kids. He strutted over, stretching out his back walking over to the door.

“Hey! It took your lazy asses long enough-” Lovino began, but stopped himself when he saw the imposing figure of Francis silhouetted against Antonio’s tiny frame.

“Aw, little Antoine!” France leered down at the child. Lovino felt his blood turn icy. “It has been too long, mon cheri. Surely you remember your old ami!” He bent down to hug the child, but Antonio side stepped, Francis nearly toppled over. Eyes wide with surprise. Antonio quickly hid behind Lovino’s leg.

Lovino reassuringly patted Antonio’s head.

“Ah! Romano,” Francis finally noticed Lovino as he invited himself in. “How strange to find you here, and not in Naples where I last left you.” Past Francis Feli and the guards stood, cart resting beside them. Feli shifted from foot to foot, guiltily.

“We needed some fresh air.” He bristled. Francis nodded, pretending to understand. Francis’s mere presents soured the air. An intruder in Lovino’s short-lived bliss away from the machinations of more powerful players. The three Italians also let themselves in.

“I’d say,” Lovino shot back. “It’s strange for you to be here, uninvited . Why didn’t you wait for me in Naples? Instead of stalking me to the boonies!”

The conversation between France and Romano might have seemed improvised to an outsider, but it actually followed a well-rehearsed, secret structure. It was like the steps of a dance they repeated every time they met in the past twenty years. First, Francis would arrive at the Neapolitan palace, and chat about whatever the fuck Francis like to discuss as small talk topics, probably smelly cheese and dynastic supremacy over Europe, with the unlucky bastard currently calling himself Lovino’s king. Lovino would saunter in when he wished, so France wouldn’t think he was in any way eager to see him, always late but immaculate. Fully washed and groomed, sporting his finest black clothes. He refused to wear any other color in France’s presence, as a memento to the almost lover stolen from him. The Frenchman would say something equally snarky and condescending about it. Lovino would show Francis Toni was fine, and as far as he knew, well behaved. Then, he would send Toni away to some activity he had arranged in advance. France would explain that Toni was old enough and Lovino not needed. Lovino would beg, give him gold, or crops, or whatever. Sometimes that would not be enough, and they would end up in Lovino's bedroom. Lately, they always did. 

It had started small, much like Toni´s pet collection. Lovino had nothing left to offer that Francis didn't already have, so he had offered a blowjob in exchange for keeping Antonio longer by his side. Francis had first come to claim him, when the kid´s body was about two and a half. Then it had escalated. Touching, being fingered, cumming for the bastard to watch, then...-By now, he was game for anything, and every time he heard the bedroom door close behind Francis and him, his blood froze and his mind raced through the new routine, the second act of the dance, they had started to develop together. Francis always insisted on undressing Lovino himself, tearing off his black clothing, the clothes he wore in honor of Antonio, before plundering his body. He used Lovino as he liked for whatever he liked, and never failed to point out the instances in which he thought that Lovino had enjoyed it too. He often made sure that Lovino " enjoyed" it too. That was always the worst part. " Antonie never touched you like this, did he?"" No, no he didn't. Maybe he never wanted to…Please, shut up" . Hands, lips, fluids, humiliation, rage...Then he'd be gone, as if he'd never been there.

Lovi refused to cry in front of Francis, but when he mercifully heard the sound of the bedroom door close, he’d cry, angry, self-loathing tears into the pillow, like a small child. 

It was worth it, though. He only needed to cradle little Toni in his arms that night, his heart feeling full and warm, for him to know that it was worth it. For this kid he'd go through this a million times, if it meant he could keep him safe and happy. He would have done the same for the former Antonio, if only that would have helped him, but his devotion to Spain had meant nothing in the end, he couldn't save him. It may be enough to protect this one either. The thought terrifies him.

One time Toni had come back earlier than arranged, and had found Lovino crying in the darkest corner of his bedroom, folded over himself. Toni had gotten so scared! The poor thing. Lovino had tried to explain the situation but try explaining to a kid that seeing his parental figure ravished and crying his eyes out is normal. Toni didn’t understand that this was nothing but part of the routine, releasing tension, scrubbing his skin raw, bathing some more, and releasing more tears, and then finding the comfort of greeting Toni back home, fixing him dinner, and squeezing him for a bit too long, a few too many times, for the rest of the night. It worked for him, it worked to keep their little, happy life together. Lovino paid the high price France required and got more years with the child he unabashedly adored. He was fine with it, really! But go and try to explain the complexities of France and Lovino’s agreement to a little kid that just found his caretaker in the middle of a meltdown, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to stop even when he found little hands that by all fucking Gods should NOT be there yet trying to push his face up. Try explaining that to Toni, the sweetest, kindest, most loyal, most caring and most stubborn child of all time!

That had been the worst evening in Lovino´s life, seeing the panic in Antonio's face and not being able to do anything about it. Toni kept trying and trying to comfort him, and Lovino kept trying and trying to reign in his emotions, failing, scaring his dearest Toni, and feeling even worse with every passing second. Dodging the kid's persistent questions about what had happened had only been marginally less horrific than seeing the remains of his pride reflected back at him in Toni´s wide eyes.

It must have been the worst of Toni´s recent life as well. After that evening, Toni had gotten an odd compulsion for hoarding sharp objects and hiding them around the house. Forks, shovels, daggers if he could find some. He had also become more alert, more suspicious and perceptive, watching Lovino's moods for signs of dangers and instability; and of course, he had found them, because there is only so much mental stability one can hold while doing what Lovino was doing to himself. The problem was that Toni could not find a pattern in Lovino's fear or sadness, so he became suspicious of everything. His five-year-old mind tried to create safety in the way a militarily inclined nation with a five-year-old mind could be expected to. Ensuring he and Lovi would never be found unarmed by the invisible enemy that kept attacking Lovino in his dreams. He refused to leave Lovino alone, which made the arrangements for France's next few visits a nightmare. Every time Lovino found a butcher's knife under a cushion he was reminded of his failure as a guardian.

Leaving his own shortcomings aside, at least he had a script to follow when he interacted with France. He knew what to do, and how to do it, and he knew that at the end of it all he would have Toni in his arms, reading a bedtime story, and it all would have been worth it. But today, Francis did not seem game. This terrified Lovino more than when France looked at him with lust.

Francis showing up, unannounced, in a setting other than the Neapolitan palace broke with tradition. It frightened Lovino. Antonio squeezed Lovino’s thigh, rather to assure himself or the older man, Lovino couldn’t tell.

“I grew weary of waiting for you. It is rather rude to keep someone waiting. I needed to discuss some concerns I have when the tutor, so generously provided for young Antoine’s edification, unexpectedly had taken ill?” France explained.

“John Marie got sick and died six months ago. He ate a mushroom he would have been better off not touching. We wrote to you about it at the time, but you didn’t bother to write us back.” Lovino retorted. Lovino would have felt sorry for the man, but he was his own undoing. Antonio tried to warn the haughty Frenchman that the mushroom he eyed gluttonously was deadly. But he arrogantly insisted that he knew better.

“I was preoccupied with affairs abroad.” Francis seemed distracted for a moment. “Who can blame a poor man for touching something he shouldn't? We’ve all fallen prey to our desires, no?” France waggled his brows.

“Even so before the tutor’s passing,” France continued, “I would have hoped for him to have instilled some French etiquette into young Antoine. Perhaps maybe he would have taught you a thing or two as well.”

“What? Did you want us to fucking curtsey or something?” Lovino asked incredulously.

“Gross.” Antonio murmured into Lovino’s thigh. Lovino suppressed a smirk.

“Tisk. Tisk. That would be quite a sight. Tell me, does that mouth of yours do anything other than shout obscenities. Perhaps we can find a better use for it together, hm?” France suggested, flirtatiously. Lovino’s skin crawled.

But this was encouraging, the conversation steered itself into familiar territory. Now all Lovino had to do was placate Francis, let Francis think that Lovino remembered his place, he served France and his king. Let the moronic blonde believe what he would of Lovino. Truly, in his heart of hearts, the lovestruck teenager served the faded echo of a lover long-since dead.

“We have much to discuss, don’t we, Nounou?” Lovino glowed. Shaking France’s arm from his shoulder. “Perhaps it’d be best to discuss such things away from young, impressionable Antoine.” Lovino took the hint.

“Go play with the guards!” Lovino ordered Toni. Antonio looked over at the pair of guards. One Neapolitan guard had hit the other with his sphere on accident while reaching down to retrieve his dropped hat. The other guard retaliated with fisticuffs. The two were moving in a circle revolving their fists around and around, both too cowardly to swing first. Feli was waving his arms frantically trying to separate the two.

“You want me to play with them?” Antonio asked.

“Your right.” Lovino sighed. “You’d give them too many bruises. The Master of the Guard will get mad if you fumble his men again. He’s only got so many.”

“It was an accident” Toni mumbled “Well, various accidents-”

“Some involving butter knives, I remember. I had to hear that bastard Franco bitch for weeks.'' Lovino reminded, using the euphemism of butter knives in place of swords, axes, crossbows, rocks and general melee weaponry.

“They wanted to spar!”

“Toni…”

“I don't wanna leave you alone with France. You get sad after he visits”

Lovino flushed, gilt filling the pit of his stomach.

“I assure you, little one, it is always his idea.”

Lovino flushed even darker and felt the need to scratch his skin off and replace it with something untouched by Francis. 

The guardian and charge stared off, neither breaking eye contact, both unyielding. Antonio complied in the end, noticing the wild desperation in his guardians' stare. Feli took the child’s hand leading him toward the door. North Italy chatted away nervously trying to distract him with anecdotes the child didn't seem to be paying much attention to.

“Wait.” Antonio called, before Lovino could close the door.

The child jumped up, retrieving yet another hidden weapon from the top of the

doorway - a shoemaker’s knife. Lovino felt a ping of hurt in his chest knowing that what he was about to do was the very reason the kind-hearted Antonio deemed it necessary to hoard

every sharp object he came across. Antonio held the fine long metal rod with a

diagonal point at the end out to Lovino, who groaned and shut the door without

taking it. 

Antonio did not like this, not one bit. Lovino was short with him, sure. But, when Lovino was that flustered for Antonio to be out of sight, it usually meant something bad was about to happen that Lovino did not want him to know about. Antonio darted to the open window, before Feli could stop him.

France stood, tapping his foot.

Lovino turned to France. “The gold -”

“Tribute.” France corrected with an overly saccharine smile. He pointed to the window, where Antonio stood watch, Glaring suspiciously at the pair. The guards and Feli tried unsuccessfully to push him away. Toni remained glued to the spot, closely observing, as rigidly stoic as a granite statue. Lovino’s heart softened, but he stomped over and slammed the shudders closed. He turned back to Francis.

“Right… the tribute is back in the palace.” Lovino put his hand behind his neck.

“Not to worry. I made sure to collect it before coming here.”

“Great.” Lovino said dryly.

Francis walked around the small space; a look of pity mixed with condescension on his regal Face. He found the bedroom door and made his way inside, before taking a seat on the bed. Lovino followed after him like the trained dog he had become. France crossed his legs, somehow looking down on the standing Lovino.

“I must say, these common dwellings are far less comfortable than I am accustomed to. I can’t imagine the two of you actually enjoy it here.”

“We get by.” Lovino shrugged. “You’d be surprised what good food, good company and a waterproof roof over your head can do.”

“Yes, I’m certain I would.” Francis did not sound convinced. “This provincial life is cute and all, Romano. I’m sure it suits a nation like you well. But young Antoine needs...a bit more sophistication if he is to grow into a truly great nation, like myself. Don’t you think?”

“I think...” Lovino feared this day would come. He dreaded to witness Francis impose his will on his sweet little charge. “Antonio and I are happy here.”

“Lovino, your naivety is almost charming?” Francis laughed. “But it is time for Antoine to be raised in my court, like a proper enlightened nation.”

Lovino bristled, remembering terrible rumors about the French court. Apparently, Francis’s spoiled noblemen were no kinder than France to young, weak nations. No way in hell he would allow either of them to ever step foot anywhere near that wretched swamp. 

“That’s not a good idea. Antonio is still a bit… rough around the edges. I don’t think he has what you're looking for from an ‘enlightened’ nation or whatever. The tutor was working out fine before he died on us. Why don’t you just send another one?”

“No, no. Antoine is a special case. Better I oversee his education personally, while he is young, and his mind is malleable...”

Lovino glared, disapproving of Francis’s plans for Toni. The teen crossed his arms in protest.

“I’m not going.” But he knew he didn’t really have a choice.

Francis hummed impatiently. “Romano, I never said you were invited.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. I’m the babysitter or nanny or whatever. I’m supposed to take care of him. How could he go to Versailles without me there?” Lovino exclaimed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes. Very well, nanny,” Francis sneered. “The infant I so graciously placed in your care has grown into an insolent wild child, running around barefoot among farm animals. I think you deserve to be fired.”

“...He likes it.” Lovino defended, weakly.

“Lovino, he’s playing with a snarling beast!” Francis accused.

“Better the beasts here than the ones in your court.” Lovino challenged, thrusting his chin upwards. “I refuse to let Antonio step foot in that hedonistic hell-hole you pass off as ‘high society.’”

“What is with this weird fixation you have with him? He is not that Antonio, Romano! He is not your boss; he can offer you no protection.” Francis's face darkened, there was a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “And grooming a poor child to turn him into your makeshift lover is twisted even for you.”

“What! Get your mind out of the gutter!” Lovino sounded appalled. “That’s not what I want!”

“Then? Some weird mommy fantasy? You like to imagine that he is your child? Yours and Antonio´s child?”

“No!” but he blushed up to his ears. 

“Romano!” Francis snapped; his carefully tailored composure momentarily shattered by his frustration toward the infuriating teen. He took a moment to collect himself. Stroking back a lock of blonde hair that had fallen loose during his outburst. “Then what are you trying to do here?”

“He needs me,” Lovino insisted, quietly. France looked unamused.

“Really?"

“We need each other!" Lovino resolutely declared.

“No, Romano. Admit it. You need him. That is all. This is all about you."

“Okay! Fine! It’s all about me!” Lovino began. “You win again. Like usual, right? You can have me!” Lovino stripped off his loose-fitting work shirt.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Shit! Take me! Use me! Make love to me! Fuck me like one of your French whores! Do whatever the flying fuck you want with me. That’s how we play this game, isn't it?

“Well, actually-”

“Playing hardball today? Huh?”

“Eh, not really. You see-”

“Fuck it! Do your worst! You can do whatever this time! I swear! You can slap me, fist me up the ass, or call me Arthur, as far as I care! Just-leave him with me. Okay?

“You're insane” Francis spluttered. Lovino dropped to his knees and crawled on all fours over to Francis and began undoing the Frenchman’s breeches.

“No,” Lovino responded. “I'm desperate. And a coward, remember?” Lovino tried to crawl on all fours towards France, but Francis didn´t react except to move away slightly. When Lovino insisted, he stood up and moved away from the bed. He looked halfway between concerned and terrified.

“As much as I am intrigued, and fairly horrified, by your propositions,” he mumbled the last bit to himself. “I cannot, in good conscience, accept your advances this time.”

“Why!? Why not?”

“Because, I the previous times, my friend, I was...open to, maybe, allowing Antoine stay with you longer. This time, I am not” France´s eyes were determined and sharp, Lovino´s mouth went dry. "He is coming, and we won't need a nanny anymore"

"You can´t take him away."

"Actually, yes, I can."

“Please! I'll do anything! Look! I'll... I'll..."

"Save your breath. There is nothing you can do anymore."

"Why?"

"Because I need him, and I don't need you"

" You do! He"

"Romano. Antoine is a powerful empire, whereas you my adorable, little imbecile, are you.” He raised his hand up and down to emphasize his point. "Please! Put your shirt back on"

Lovino felt embarrassed. Still half-dressed on his knees. He picked up his shirt, putting it on as he rose to his feet.

“And no matter how much you need him, we don't need you!” France finished.

The ground dropped from Lovino. He felt paralyzed. His throat too dry to speak, but he managed to muscle out a final plea.

“Please.” he begged. “Just one year more!”

Francis stood up. He straightened his clothes, paying Lovino no mind. 

“Okay! Fine six months?”

No answer.

“Just a month, please Francis!”

“But the child is already packed.” Francis gestured to the fully stuffed chests pushed against the wall.

“A week! That’s all I ask!” 

Francis tapped his chin. 

“I suppose I can spare an hour...”

“An hour!”

“I am a busy man. We can’t all spend our days frolicking in the fields eating tomatoes or what have you.” Francis waved his hand dismissively. “An hour is all you get.”

“Okay.” Lovino hung his head in defeat.

“Ve. Toni, Stop! You shouldn’t go in there!” Lovino heard his brother call from the other side of the door. Antonio busted through the wood, clutching Lovino’s dented watering can. It didn’t look exceptionally deadly on its own, but the way Antonio gripped it made it feel as lethal as a dagger. 

Lovino stared wide-eyed at Antonio. The child surveyed the scene: no indications of bodily harm on Lovino. The strange instinct that had pushed him loosened his grip immediately, letting him return to his calmed self.

“I just wanted to check that everything was fine. You were in here long” The child stated, unashamed, he sauntered over to stand beside Lovino, eyeing Francis wearily.

Lovino wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry.

The whole struggle of getting Antonio into the carriage would have been so much easier if Lovino or Antonio would just cooperate. But no, the stubborn drama queens had to throw a tantrum. The child skillfully side swept the Neapolitan guards, who were no match for Antonio, they fumbled and tripped when the child so much as blew on them. Fernando and Maria flanked Toni, deflecting attacks as needed.

“Antoine, don’t you want to visit Versailles?” France tried, as if asking the child if he wanted a new toy. He slowly crept up behind the distracted Antonio, but the child easily side-stepped as he had in the doorway. Fernando rammed into France which toppled him to the ground, grass staining his expensive outfit.

“Sure. But only if Lovino comes with me.” In an attempt to grab Antonio, Feli had tripped, landing face first into the pasta he used in a stupid ploy to lure the child.

Antonio pulled out a pair of rusty gardening shears Lovino kept beside the tomato plants. He turned and smirked at the two Neapolitan guards, preparing to lunge. They collapsed to the floor, holding each other and blubbering for mercy. Antonio kindly patted their heads, as if reassuring one of his freshly found critters he meant no harm.

Lovino leaned against his cottage’s ivy-covered walls. Arms crossed, lips turned slightly upwards as he watched the men bumble about in their futile attempt to restrain the invincible child.

“Feel free to help anytime, Romano.” Francis demanded; displeasure evident as he dusted off the dirt from his suit.

He shrugged. “I figured an enlightened nation like yourself could handle things on your own.”

“Romano.” Francis warned. He took a breath and tried again. “Romano, whether you like it or not. Antoine is coming with me. Help me with him now, and I might, barring any bad behavior and vast improvements in your attitude, invite you to court to see him. Perhaps if you prove exceptional you might even be able to reclaim your au pair position? How does that sound?”

Lovino grit his teeth. Hoping that Francis using Antonio as leverage over him would not become a habit.

“Antonio,” Lovino ordered, “Get your ass in the damn carriage.”

“No!” Antonio stomped his foot. Lovino walked over, the only one Antonio would allow close enough to touch. “Not without you!”

Lovino looked deep into Antonio’s eyes.

“I won’t go and leave you all alone.” God, this kid knew how to tug on Lovino’s heart strings.

“Antonio,” he started, gently. He crouched to the ground, hands resting on Antonio’s shoulders, nose to nose with the child. He took in a deep breath, selecting his next words carefully.

“This is something you gotta do without me. An adventure” - Antonio’s eye’s lit up at the word - “just for you.” He tried a smile.

“But I don’t have to do it alone.” Antonio argued. You did before. Lovino thought bitterly, the image of the former Antonio waving to him as he sailed away on an impressive ship, leaving Lovino alone wondering when he’d next see his guardian. But he couldn’t voice his heartache.

“Why can’t you come with me?” Antonio tried.

“I… I’m-” Lovino didn’t know what to say. What could he say? The guy I'm leaving you with is a terrible human being who wants to exploit your people and use you as a gateway into the Americas. Lovino prided himself on always being honest with Antonio, both the child and the empire. But this scared boy in front of him needed comfort, so he settled on what he hoped would become true.

“I’ll be with you soon.” He promised.

"Peru is sending me more seeds though. They may arrive this week..."

"I'll give him your new address"

“Won’t Fernando be lonely without me?” Antonio questioned. Lovino looked over to the bull. He kept his head down, half-heartedly pounding the grass.

“Won’t you be lonely, too?” Concern wrinkled Antonio’s small brow. He had too big a heart.

“Fernando and I have each other and we both speak Spanish.” At that Fernando trotted over and nuzzled Lovino’s cheek. “See, we’ll be okay.”

He gently unclenched the improvised weapon from Antonio’s hand and lifted the child up. He walked slowly over to the carriage. The footman opened the door.

“Promise?” Antonio asked, tucked under Lovino’s chin.

“...Yes.” Lovino lied. He placed the child inside, hoping he hid his tears well.

“If you get lonely, you have to tell me.” Antonio asked.

“Of course.” Lovino placed his hand on Antonio’s cheek. The child nuzzled into the touch.

“Ahem,” Francis cleared his throat. Lovino glared from over his shoulder. Francis studied his pocket watch impatiently.

“Yeah, I know,” Lovino said. “Try to be good.” He moved closer, rubbing their noses together as he had when Antonio was a baby lying on his chest, “But don’t try too hard.” he whispered, playful.

Antonio nodded, a bitter-sweet look on his little, chubby face. That puppy-dog frown Lovino loathed to see still on his lips.

“Ugh. This is ridiculous.” Francis shoved Lovino out of the way, he hurriedly stepped into the coach. The footman closed the door, sealing Antonio’s fate.

Antonio watched Lovino through the rear window as the carriage pulled away. Lovino ran after it for as long as he could, but eventually the horse outpaced him.

Antonio kept his face glued to the glass, long after Lovino and his cottage vanished over the horizon. 

“Aren’t you excited, Antoine? You will learn so much from my court! I have so many things to teach you! ”

Antonio turned himself to sit forward. “I’m going to miss Lovino.” Francis put a domineering arm around the child’s tiny shoulders.

“Well, Feliciano will be around, you’ll have him for company?” Francis played with the strands of Antonio’s brown hair. Twirling his curls methodically around his index finger.

Antonio squirmed. “Feli’s not Lovino.”

“I prefer the company of a docile Venetian over a cantankerous Neapolitan.” Francis shrugged. “But you’ll see. You will grow to love my court.” Francis smiled.

“You like animals, no? When you arrive at court, we’ll get you a nice French dog to play with. Perhaps a poodle”

“A poodle?” Antonio said. “I wonder if Lovino likes poodles.”

“Oui,” Francis’s smile grew wider.

He, indeed, should have taken the kid earlier, he risked keeping to many memories, too many bad habits, but that could be fixed. He and his family controlled the money, which meant that he controlled the intellectual class of his nations. That did a lot in the way of controlling memories, but just to be safe...He pulled Antonio by the hair. Slamming the child’s skull against cracking glass. Frances nodded, releasing his grip. The child slumped aimlessly over Francis's lap. Francis kissed and soothed the mounting bump on Antonio’s forehead.

“A sweet little poodle for the sweet little boy.”


	5. They Grow Up So Fast

Attn: The Kingdom of España 

10th of February, 1758 

Dear Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, 

If you don’t get this letter either, I’m going to be really, really pissed. How is life in Versailles? I hear the place smells like shit and everyone dresses like a circus performer? Write to me with your thoughts.

Fernando and I are faring well. He gets bored around the castle, but he’s stopped leaving little gifts in the halls, which we are all grateful for. I try to play with him, but I think he misses you. You should really write to him. 

Juana had kittens, again. I found out after I sent your letter from Monday. She gave birth in my sock drawer of all places and had remained there ever since! It was dark last night and I didn't notice the blood, I tried to grab one of her babies to put it on my foot. She wasn't pleased, nor was the baby. I have not the heart to kick her out. But while she’s in the draw I am unable to wear socks. Maybe you could adopt one of Juana´s kittens, if you write back and fucking Francis lets you. At least, help me name them. I´m fucking lame for these things. These pests always like the names you give them.

Meanwhile, Catherine is hunting for two (hope she wasn't planning on giving birth in my sock drawer). As for María, well, she tried to eat the crown prince, but that dumb hat really made him look like a head of lettuce, so I have not punished her. Maybe they would appreciate a letter too. 

I can't find Francis, the frog, or Machiavelli anywhere. Don Quixote run away this Sunday and has not come back yet. I don´t think he will, he was unhappy here Don´t be mad at him though, it was my fault; I don’t have your skill with wild animals; I think he didn't like how things have changed around here without you. Rodrigo is doing great on his training though. He´d love to visit you and show you all the new tricks he learned. 

I forwarded you Peru’s seeds. I also tried growing whatever plant she sent you myself, but I don’t have much of a knack for American agriculture, you should really write me with the proper growing directions. 

I’ve sent another letter to Francis asking him for a formal invitation. I’ve written to his King, every ambassador I know of, and, hell, even the Pope - so hopefully, we’ll see each other again real soon. Please write to me, when or if you get this. 

Toni, if you’re ignoring me because you're sad or mad, stop it! We both can't be temperamental children about this! Please don’t be mad. If you get this letter - you better get this letter - make sure to write to me. Just a line will do. Hell, just send me one of your plant-life illustrations. I need to know you are okay.

With Growing Impatience to Hear From You,

Lovino Vargas

P.S Francis, if I find out you are keeping my letters from Antonio, I promise to kick your ass so hard that every time you eat one of those stupid snails you like so much, all you’ll be tasting is well crafted Italian leather!

Francis winced while tucking the letter back into the envelope. 

“Have you read this?” He asked Feliciano, who stood in front of France's ridiculously large oak desk. He handed the letter back to Feliciano.

Feli shifted guiltily. “I try not to… when I can help it… my brother really misses Toni. Maybe you could let Toni read his letters?”

“Aw! sweet, little Feliciano, what a kind brother you are.” Francis chuckled, opening his desk drawer. It overflowed with unsealed envelopes and folded papers. “I wish I could, but you know that the worst thing for Toni would be not forgetting the retrograde influences of his youth”. 

He dumped the sizable stack of letters written by Lovino carelessly over the desk. A few scattered to the floor. Many letters addressed to Toni, with careful penmanship and lovely wax sealing; many more written for Francis with obscenities and threats of bodily harm crossed out but still legible, some even boldly underlined as if proud of the impropriety. 

“Oh!I know! He is not a very talented tutor. I don´t think he should be anywhere close to Toni yet. I just feel bad, he was happy raising him, and Lovino is never happy.” 

“Yes, certainly cleaning bull manure sounds very fulfilling; but not very educational for Toni… Hopefully those years won´t be a problem though. Do you remember anything from your first forty years?”

“Uh...No, not really”

“Me neither. I think my memory starts at...ninety? That is a little too late, I know. But anyway! I took care of that, just in case. Now our duty is to keep him away from nocive influence. We must, do what is best for Antoine, I bet Lovino would agree as well, if he could pull his head out of his rectum for a couple of days.”

“Maybe we can let him visit, ve? When it is safe and Toni is older.”

“For you, Feli, I would consider it...It will have to wait until Antoine´s mind is more formed, properly formed” Francis eyed the pile of letters from which various obscenities jumped to his visual field “And until Lovino calms down a bit, although I am doubtful if such a day will ever arrive.” Francis shrugged. “If you could please..” Francis gestured vaguely with his hand, as he walked to the door. “Sweet Antoine has French lesson and I’d hate to keep him waiting. I already feel bad enough after taking away the dog” he left. Both Francis and Feli felt really guilty about taking Antonio's poodle away, but Antonio had somehow taught it to hunt rats, and now the little beast run around carrying bloodied rodent corpses through the elegant saloons, for the agony if the ladies and the relief of the kitchen staff. They tried to retrain the poodle, but once the animal had gotten back in touch with it's primal instincts there was no turning back. It had to be removed.

They also had to ban Antonio from accessing the stables, and promise fire and sulfur for anyone who allowed him to. If left to his own devices, the child would spent his days down there, among the horses. As sad as Toni looked since then, hay and horse manure were not the surroundings befitting an enlightened nation to be. 

Feliciano took the pile, cradling it awkwardly against his chest. He marched the short distance to the office fireplace. Without an ounce of hesitation, he fed the letters, one-by-one, into the roaring flames. Each trembled lightly, as if begging to be read by their intended recipient, before succumbing to fate and burning away into ash.

Attn: The Kingdom of España 

18th of June, 1774 

Dear Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, 

Fernando died today. He lived longer than most of us expected. I think he kept living because he wanted to see you. I´m not trying to make you feel guilty, I´m sorry. Nevermind ( the previous three sentences are thoroughly scratched out).

The burial was nice, even if it was just me and the farmers who helped me bury him. I´ve lost track of Juana XII, she rarely shows up anymore to eat. I think she has joined another household somewhere else.

Toni, please, answer something.

Love,

Lovino Vargas

Feli signed, reading over the letter once more before throwing it to the flames. He really had to do something about his brother. This was getting pathetic, and the younger Italian had plans that required his brother's cooperation. He needed his brother to see what his precious Spain had become. He was so proud of the job Francis and him had done in educating Toni!

Maybe, when Lovino saw the new and improved Antonio, he'll wake up out of this love-haze and they would both be able to focus on growing into strong modern nations! Feli had plans for them both.

10th of November, 1774 

“...so then, since your religious fanaticism has always kept you from making any significant scientific contribution...Antoine, are you listening to me?”

“Yeah yeah. I was worthless and a monster, I was always backwards, and behind, and ignorant and worse than you in everything. I know the drill.”

The child responded, his face turned away from the history lesson and towards the window. He slumped onto the sill, away from the hard-back chair and writing desk. His chin resting on his crossed forearms in the comfortable room. Too comfortable, too hot, soporiferous. Outside, the trees were hanging on to their last leaves, birds sang in naked branches against a pearled sky, a sad spectacle that appealed to his heart much more than Francis's monotonous words.

“I didn't say- ! Look, I didn't say you are worse than- Well, you don't have to sound so upset about it. If you just were less stubborn and followed my example , you could become your best self.”

“Yeah. I could become like you, right? Or England? You guys always did everything correctly according to that.” He pointed to the book with his head.

“Antoine! Are you insinuating that I am lying to you?” Antonio sighed, hiding his face in his arms for an instant, feeling like a tantruming, spoiled brat. But, at some level in his gut, he did feel like throwing a tantrum, sending everything to hell, this place the books, Francis, and himself! But he didn't even know why! And that was the most disconcerting aspect. France was only trying to take care of him, he reminded himself and, with a guilty sigh, he forced himself to reign in his tempestuous temper.

“No, I´m sorry.” He answered honestly.

“Well, then let´s resume. What happened after you were the last nation to properly unify your society?”

“Yeah, then I started torturing and killing people because I thought they were all witches, all across the land more than anyone else and worse than anybody, because I was the most fanatic in Europe, the most obscurantist in Europe, the only one who killed people in America already living there, I stole all the gold and didn't do anything with it, I lost everything and did everything wrong and I'm still doing it and I'm still around for- I don´t know really...” The kid shrugged.. “And I´m chaotic and primitive and a thief and unruly and-”

“Snark and winning are not gonna make what I'm teaching you any less true.” France interrupted.

Antonio shrugged, obstinately refusing to lift his chin from his crossed arms on the window, but pressed his lips and relaxed them again in something like a sad concession, his eyes still lost in the black silhouettes that jump from branch to branch with their little, delicate legs.

Maybe old him would have tortured and burned them. Maybe he still would. Maybe he should try it. What different would it make?

“I know.” he answered through his arms, “I'm just bored. I don't like to study.”

“That is only because you are undisciplined.”

“Yeah, I know that. You say it enough.” Antonio grumbled, his bad mood coming back just as quickly as it had subsided. Francis sighed and shook his head, closing his history book and giving up for today. He was trying to do good by the kid, teaching him how to be a modern, French gentleman and ensuring that he received the full benefits of French enlightenment, but Antonio was somehow not responding as well as Francis thought. Francis was even starting to wonder if Antonio was capable of becoming an European nation at all.

“How are your violin lessons with Feliciano going?”

“I don't like violin.”

“Oh! Nonsense! You love it! And you will be able to play those wonderful musical pieces from Italian Operas. You like Italian Operas, don´t you?”

“They are alright,” Antonio answered, disinterested. He caught his lips between his teeth again for an instant, choosing to make an effort and trying to explain himself. “It is just that-”

“They are the most supreme and most refined form of art in the globe. Objectively better than anything else. If you apply yourself and keep working on it you may one day develop a musical tradition as internationally relevant as Feliciano´s opera, or German opera, or my own.”

“ Your opera is not relevant at all” Antonio was about to correct him, but chose not to. What was the point? It would hurt Francis for no reason. If he wanted to believe that his opera was like Vene´s, why not? Maybe it really was. Maybe Antonio was just bitter, jealous of him. Maybe Antonio was envious because France had not had any economic crisis or mismanaged his funding or had massacred innocents, and had made a lot of important discoveries while Antonio had never contributed to civilization in any relevant way. Yeah, that might be it. Maybe France´s opera was really all that important.

He sighed, and rubbed his face on the sleeves of his elaborate coat. He could hear Francis´s voice in his head, screaming for him to stop before he got the white embroideries and silky ornaments dirty, the second he started, and stopped himself. That saved him from hearing the voice in real life yet again. He hated ornate jackets, and light colors, and all the bows and frills of French fashion, but that was what dressing properly looked like, in a proper court. Antonio felt it was a bit ridiculous, and had managed to reduce the ornaments and adjust the clothes a bit more to his taste. Frances had conceded, up to a certain point, but Antonio knew the court thought that he dressed up less just because he was poor. Maybe he was. Why not? He seemed to do everything wrong anyway.

“Antoine?” His guardian put a hand on Antonio´s shoulder “what is the matter now?”

“I don´t know,” Antonio answered honestly. France sighed from behind, sad, and honestly concerned. Antonio felt embarrassed once again, he tried to scramble in his mind desperately, for a more rational answer “I- I think I miss something.” he finally concluded, surprised with how true it was as he said it. Yeah, that sounded about right. He wanted to talk. He felt a strange loss, something, or someone, who could hold his heart and make it stop doing...whatever it was doing, going in circles, he didn't even know, he could barely tell, among the fog. He felt like crying now, which yeah, would certainly not help his case.

“What do you miss, Toni?”

“I don´t know.” The kid admitted, his words becoming quieter, his eyes covered with a coat for centuries old nostalgia. “I can't remember it”.

It made sense to him, even if his brain knew that it didn´t. Well, he didn't ever make sense anyway, so whatever! Why couldn't he run with this explanation just as well as with anything else?

Behind him, Francis sighed again and left the room, shaking his head. Antonio felt guilty for letting him down once again.

“Hello Toni! Are you ready for your violin practice today?”

Antonio let his head down and tried not to growl. No! He wasn't, but that wasn't an option, was it? Feliciano´s question was not a real question. Nobody's questions were real questions there, as a general rule, so he had come to the conclusion that he didn't need to answer. He just lifted his body from the bed. It was ridiculously hard to do, move his body and get ready to do...anything productive, really. As usual, took the violin he kept with little love in a drawer by the study table, and flopped to the chair by Feliciano´s side.

“C´mon Toni! Smile! You love music!” Antonio made an effort, and gave Feliciano a tired smile. He did feel better after smiling, a bit more relaxed, and adopted the beginning position as the Italian got the music stand and the songs for today ready. Skipping notes meant to be clean in groups of six. He sighed. Why was he upset about it, he couldn't tell. As Francis said, he was unstable, and got upset for no good reason all the time. Six by eight beats were nice, got a nice flow to the music, all of Europe agreed. 

At this point, Antonio had learned to ignore his emotions and the weird impulses from his heart. They never made any sense and only got him in trouble. His instincts seemed to be at permanent war with what he had been taught was best.

Feliciano´s music slid from Antonio's fingers harmonically. He was good at it, he knew that, and Feliciano´s happy face as he hummed along was sweet to see. After over an hour of practice Antonio felt better, and emboldened by how pleased his teacher seemed with him, he dared make a request.

“Do you think we could play something else, Feli?”

“Something else? Sure! I have a new piece here that I was dying to try-” Fely produced another music sheet filled with the dreaded six beats tempo. Again . It was nice, but...

“N-no. I don't mean like that. I mean-Maybe...something else? Entirely? Something with a different metric maybe? I have been wanting to t-”

“You-You don't like my music!” Feliciano exclaimed, with eyes wide and hurt

“No! It is not that! I really do! It is just-”

“I thought you appreciated it! I work so hard on writing this!”

“I know! I like it. It is just-I want to try something different!”

Feli got the waterworks on, scrambling to collect the papers. Antonio felt terrible, and tried to stop him.

“Why would you want something different, if you didn't think that his is not good enough?”

“It is not-”

“It is okay Toni, I have only spent my blood and soul trying to teach you to be a great musician, you don't owe me anything after all”

“I-I just-It just doesn't feel mine, I-”

“It is yours! It is a patrimony of all of Europe! It is the patrimony of the civilized world! But-but it is okay! You can not like it! I´m-I´m sorry for forcing you to endure my awful music! I just wanted to share it with you so it could be yours too! Like pasta! That will be next, right Toni? The pasta!”

“Wait, no! I didn't say-”

“You hate my pasta too! No! Not the pasta! I thought we were friends!”

“I-”

“That dish I cooked for you for your birthday? You didn't like it, did you? And the one in Christmas? I bet you didn't like it either! I thought we were friends! I don't know why I work so hard!”

Antonio felt awful. Soon he was begging Feliciano to stay and help him practice his amazing music.

By the end of the expected practice time Feli was cheerfully saying bye to Antonio, complimenting him in his smooth and sensitive performance. 

Antonio was left alone , the door was closed and he found himself staring at the instrument, not sure if he wanted to delicately put it back in it’s case, in gratitude for the sweet notes and beautiful sounds it had given him, or to smash it against the wall.

He opened the window, leaned out on tiptoes, staring at the birds he wanted to both feed and stone at the same time, and trying to breathe as much frigid air as possible. It helped him feel grounded, the burn on his skin, his lungs, soothed him, and he thought how nice it would be to stay like that forever and freeze, feel the soothing burn all the way.

When a hand touched him to try and pry him out of his mindless paradise, a jolt of rage shot from his toes to his hand, launching the poor servant against the cupboard, before he even knew it. The young girl and him stared at each other, equally wide-eyed. She mumbled something about dinner before running out, while Antonio sunk his face in his arms, still by the window. Francis was right. He was unstable, and getting worse every week.. It might be the dirty blood, or the lack of modernity, or the religion, or the lack of it, he didn't even know, he had gotten so many diagnoses about what was wrong with him that it made his head spin.

“Just do as I said” the voices of his tutors sounded in his head “Then you will be alright, we will all be a family, we will be happy”

He wanted to do that! But he didn't. It was hard to have both pulls at once

“Ve, you are just too stubborn, Toni”

Yeah, he knew that, he was sick of dealing with himself too.

Antonio didn't open his mouth during dinner, somber eyes stuck on the plate of food as if it was to blame it for his inner state, and was about to make it pay. All around him, his caregivers and his king talked animatedly with the guests of the night, a german principality or another, and their tinny boss, a nation that was supposed to be really old but so short and underdeveloped that he could be used to cork wine bottles. Antonio had a very detailed mental picture of how that would look. But that was Toni´s opinion anyway. Everyone else seemed to ignore the feudalistic traits that the size of the dwarf indicated, and appreciate him greatly, even though in polite society people's true feelings were everyone´s guess. 

Everybody patted each other's backs, blowing their own horn and their neighbour´s with equal enthusiasm, and congratulating each other on their modernity and their many accomplishments. Antonio wasn´t particularly impressed by any. Maybe he was jealous, simply, because he was behind. Maybe he honestly thought it was all shit and didn't feel behind at all and was really not impressed. Maybe he thought it was shit because France liked it, and even though he loved his caregiver he was just trying to be contrarian; He did that a lot; or seemed to do that a lot. Who knows? Maybe he liked it. It was hard to tell, it was hard to even care to tell. The creme whatever didn't look any more interesting now than it did seven minutes ago either.

“Isn't that amazing Toni? Their new opera house is almost built! We should build more opera houses in your house! They would make you more sophisticated” Feliciano chirped with excitement

“H-hm” Toni answered, unenthusiastically

“Oh! Toni, have you heard about this new philosophical idea of theirs? Sajonia is raising so many interesting philosophers lately…!”

“H-hm”

He repeated, like a ritual, words falling on his ears.

“Let the child be, Feliciano. He is obviously a bit too young for things such as these.”

Tonio bit back the snide retort forming on his tongue, like the previous hundred times when asked an inane question, and tried to look somewhere else. Francis and the other principality were somehow more bearable to watch, they were so pleased to meet each other they were almost endearing. At least, Toni was glad to see Franics happy.

“Ve, but we are trying to educate him a bit more. Oh! I´ll tell my brother about it today, when he arrives! My brother is visiting us, Toni! Isn't that exciting?”

“H-hm...”

“So there is this new university in this city, Toni, you should learn from our friend here.” Francis gripped the small principalities shoulder, giving it a firm, yet proud shake.

“H-hm”

“They are implementing a new reform on the land! It is working wonderfully, I'm sure it is making everything more productive! You should consider doing the same!”

“H-hm…”

“...So how is the reform going?

“Wonderful! We are making a much happier world for everyone in our principality!”

“I´m not sure a secularization would work for us, but I admire your intellectual bravery my friend, isn't that right, Toni?”

“H-hm?”

“Forgive the kid, he...well, he has nice coasts, but I´m afraid he isn't all that enlightened and doesn't have much to say.”

“I do. I was actually wondering why so many of his people have requested permission to move to my lands, in the poorest parts nobody wants, if everything is so wonderful up there.” Antonio heard himself ask, with a very pointed tone. Sajonia choked on his wine.

“Toni!” Feliciano exclaimed. Antonio shrugged his shoulders.

“You promised to be polite! Do I have to doubt your word again?” 

Antonio pursed his lips, more hurt than he let through, and looked down, continuing to eat his food mechanically, without enjoyment, while the conversation was restarted around him, in slightly more humble terms this time. His king was the only one who gave him a slightly approving glance, but Toni knew better than to rely on his human rulers to ever take his side.

Besides, they were technically right. He felt bad for embarrassing France and Feli like he had, they didn't deserve it. That didn't change the fact that they had not answered his question though.... 

He felt more uneasy, more embarrassed, and somehow more confused and angry as the conversation went back to spiraling about the wonders for central Europe, and what they wanted him to imitate. The end of dessert and the dinner couldn't come soon enough.

“Can I go?” Antonio declared, more than asked, the second the last dessert plate was swept of the table.

“Where are you going?”

“The bullfights”

France sighed. He was trying not to give up on the child, but it was hard.

“Is watching a poor man get murdered by a beast so much more interesting than polite conversation with civilized company?”

“Yes.” 

“Toni!”

" He asked" Toni wanted to answer, but bit that back, settling for a “Can I go now?” that came out a bit too tense

“Feli´s brother is going to join us soon… he would have ate with us, if he wasn't so late, as usual” France made a gesture “wouldn't you like to stay here and meet him?”

“No”

The king looked a bit ruffled, and stared at the young nation who stared him back.

“Spain, bull fights are illegal. I made them illegal, remember?”

“I know.” The king stared dumbly at him, expecting whatever realization to fall over Antonio, shame or something like that. Antonio held his state.

“But Toni! My brother is-'' 

Antonio huffed, a bit exasperated, he just wanted to get out! This place, this ambience was suffocating him! 

“South Italy. I know. You guys told me all about him. Lazy, girly, narcissistic, didn't lift a finger to help Spain or defend himself. Blah. Blah. He was only kept by the other Spain so Turkey wouldn't build bases so near. Can I go now?” Antonio spat, and turned his face towards France. “You said I only had to stay for dinner”.

France sighed in defeat. He made a gesture with the hand, while the rest of the guests stared at each other with expressions that Antonio couldn´t and didn't care to read. As soon as he got permission, Antonio left the table a spark of relief and softness shone in his hardened eyes as he turned, with lighter steps, and left through the small door of the servants.

France sighed in defeat. He made a gesture with his hand, while the rest of the guests stared at each other with expressions that Antonio couldn´t and didn't care to read. As soon as he got permission, Antonio left the table, a spark of relief and softness shone in his hardened eyes, but he kept his gaze pinned to the ground. He nearly ran over a brunette man in a traveler’s cloak standing dumbly in the middle of the entryway in his haze to change clothes. He turned into the hall, with lighter steps, peeling layers of silk as he went, git into a small service room he had claimed as his second room, changed clothes and left through the small door of the servants. 

The Italian human that was parking his carriage there gave him an odd look as he so a child go out at such a dangerous hour, but Antonio didn´t care. Finally! Finally! under the stars and in the frigid air he wasn't dressed for, he felt he could breathe again. He faded into his night, took the long way to the slums, blessedly transformed into nobody.

Just like that Toni was gone, left without so much as spearing him a glance. All his endless letters, pleading and bargaining for the last fourty years, all for nothing. This had been his last and only chance. A long-shot sure, but his only opportunity to be in the same room as Antion. But the kid had hurled insults at Lovino. Lovino couldn’t even be made, they were all true. 

The child’s cutting words paralyzed Lovino, he stood dumbly in the middle of a doorway next to the poor servant who had the misfortune of showing a flustered, and very late Lovino into the dinner party.

“Ah, Lovino, how nice of you to finally grace us with your presence” Francis mocked.

The yard of the slaughterhouse, a large backyard was mostly packed with smelly people that had nowhere to drop dead. Any war lasts three generations, a proverb said, the trauma of it rippling down families. Antonio couldn't remember the war that brought him to life, but wondered if this habit somehow had to do with it. A locked enclosure in which a man, probably young, probably poor, and probably desperate would play around with a 600kg beast likely to tear him to pieces, the expectations there to watch the thrill of someone else's life. It was hard to explain why he liked it. It might quiet the anger, seeing another man die, seeing another creature die in general. Itave a thrill that fueled the desire for life, even in the worst conditions, at least for a while.

Francis hated this new type of bull games, and in the past Antonio hadn't liked them too much either. They had been a game played by southern slaughterhouse workers who must have not valued their lives much, running away from the beasts and trying to conduct them in a direction or another for fun, instead of just to get them down the right alley to eat. People had started going to watch. It was both understandable and strange, really. A minority of the poor always do something strange. Then Feli and Fancis came along, and had decided both that this was something everyone in his land did as proof of his barbarism, and that it had to stop immediately . Toni didn't like this type of fight much before that, in that very instant something in him lit up. Doing something just because you were told not to is stupid and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He was no longer trying to.

One of the young men was caught by a horn, the rest running to help him, red blood dripping on the sand of a place that already smelled like death.

People had to eat. Though mostly the rich, meat wasn't cheap anyway.

He was angry, he was lost, he didn't know why the thought of the nations who raised him and were so kind to him made him wanna punch, break violins, stare at birds in the cold, hold burning coals in his hands and watch the skin curl around, as indifferent to it as he was to the flavour food in his plate.

He wanted to jump in, Antonio decided, watching the big animal chase someone else. So he did. Normally people would not have agreed to having a nine year old attempt such dangerous entertainment, but he was no normal child and, at some unconscious level, his people knew. 

He yelled “ho” and made a sharp movement that got the bull´s attention, a second one gor it charging his way. Antonio sidestepped last minute. He wasn't using a cloth to distract the animal. He would, if someone lend him a cape or something. If they didn't he wouldn't. It didn't matter.

The bull's horns passed five inches from his ribcage as the animal turned, losing sight of him again. It was close. It felt better, but it wasn't close enough. Antonio taunted the animal again, getting out his dagger to give it a pick if it still refused to attack him among the other targets. It didn't hurt the animal of course, bulls were like tanks, known for gutting lion packs without breaking a sweat and surviving the bites and claws. That thought reassured him, calmed the turmoil in him as the animal charged nearby again, kicking-up sand. Antonio closed his eyes and turned on his heels like the dancer of a music box, feeling the heat and the danger pass without grazing his flesh. It felt better, it felt much better.

He stepped back, the bull staring at him in real annoyance. The public was going wild, and Antonio felt exhilarated and disgusted at the same time. Some stranger threw him his cape and Tonio rolled it around his arm for later use, if he was going to use it at all. He saw the next charge come and waited, waited, waited more, and when he finally sidestepped he could feel the tip of the horns scratching his skin, ripping his shirt apart. It felt in slow motion to him, elegant, but he knew that was not how it must deem from afar, the second the bull touched him he knew exactly where to aim, and turned his head around bobbing up and down to try and throw him in the air, Antonio´s only chance of not being ripped in half was to stick close to the animal's neck and turn with it until the bull got dizzy before him, then scape. Probably it didn't look too elegant, but it felt right, it felt better, it felt pleasant and disgusting and everything in between. It felt like France or his kind would gain nothing from him doing this. It felt like being alive.

He made his way home in the early morning, reaching the palace as the sky was going white. He was cleaning the remaining blood off his hands with a handkerchief. The man had survived, the wound had not gotten an important artery, and either the rush of adrenaline or the good outcome had gotten Antonio in a good mood. Maybe it had been the intense night instead. Either way, it was a very disturbing thing to be in a good mood about. He should be disturbed, or unsettled with himself. He wasn't, and he didn't want to be, that is what everyone in the palace was for, wasn't it?

.

As he approached the door he found the same carriage than last night, and a poor man hurling enough luggage out of it to supply a little military campaign.

“Hey, Sir! Do you need a hand?” he asked, waving with one-clean-hand while he pocketed the hand

“I need a dozen” The man huffed, and Antonio smiled, offering to help. The man spoke Italian, not a word in Spanish, but Antonio found out he could remember bits and pieces of it here and there, enough to express himself.

“Your tone is very clear, the man complimented, happily burying Antonio under a pile of suitcases that needed to be carried in “Where did you learn”

Antonio smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.

“I had an Italian nanny when I was little. I guess some of it stuck."

"Oh! I hope she was nice to you!".

"I guess she was? I was too young, I don´t really remember anything about her."


	6. High Fashion

It was official, the kid hated him. He had every reason to. Lovino didn't understand why he expected otherwise. No wonder after all these decades of writing letters the kid never bothered to respond with a simple, 'I'm not dead' to the person who changed his diapers. Still, Lovino could not give up on him. His instincts told him to run, escape from the situation that hurt him and was likely to hurt him more and care for nobody but himself. But since those little hands had grabbed his shirt that was no longer an option. He was staying in Madrid and keeping an eye on things. Even if the kid hated him - and God it hurt to even think about it, hurt enough to make him catch his breath- he wasn't going to abandon him. Not again. 

Madrid's court no longer felt like home. The old castle that once stood proud keeping watch over Spain's capital burned to the ground in the 1730s. Lovino didn't have proof, but he suspected arson and personally blamed Spain's new French Bourbon monarchs. When bad things happened, like Lovino's cherished childhood home combusting in flames, Francis was usually behind it. Spain's Bourbon king erected a new palace built on the burial ground of the old Hapsburg's castle, modeled after Francis' pride and joy the Versailles Palace. That seemed to be the general theme here, burn down the old and make way for the new. He couldn't picture Antonio approving of the gaudy design choices; he probably did not get much of a say in the architecture. It had changed far too much, far too quickly. 

Francis and Veneciano's ministers pranced around, while Antonio's own nobility seemed to try to get used to the pastel colored shift their world had given. Unsure of whether they were meant to imitate the french or despise them, they did both. That caused a strange atmosphere and covered tension in which Lovino's expert eye recognized as looming danger, hiding under the temporary balm of years of peace after war. He could read the awkwardness of the city population as they walked through the slowly reformed streets of their city, like getting used to a foreign object. So he had stayed for dinner, enduring Francis's incredulity and Feliciano's pity, and anything that was thrown his way. Lovino glared defiantly at them both as he crossed the wide rooms that felt more and more hostile to him. No way he'd let these two newcomers make him feel out of place in what had been his home for so long, even if he didn't recognize what it had become. 

Prideful rebellion aside, those two owned the place, and servants seemed to avoid Lovino as if dead set on kicking him out of Madrid by ignoring him to death. After three days he had not managed to see Toni once. “Oh, he left early, he was given permission to go train the horses, he was very excited, won't be here all day,” “Oh, he was taken last night by Mr. Veneziano for a cultural exhibition, they didn't say where they'd be.”

All-so-fucking-convenient! Why did Francis torture him like this? He wasn't going to stalk Toni or force him to talk to him! He wasn't a creep! He had gotten the hint- the kid didn't like him! All he wanted to do was to check that Toni was alright, maybe apologize, try to explain himself...Still, nothing.

“Oh, Don Francisco took Antonio to get fitted for a new suit earlier, I don't know when they will be back.” “Don Francisco and Antonio are checking the progress of the harvest. Yes, I know it's not the season, I think it's strange too.”

Fuck him!

The one time he managed to catch a glimpse of his little treasure was by accident while trying to clear his head at night. The pulse of the city he once knew so well took him to a group of people gathered around a corrala, clapping and ignoring the curfew Francis was unsuccessfully trying to impose. In the center of the group stood Antonio, playing with the bulls that were meant to be turned into steaks the next morning, glowing with fake pride, dull and confused underneath. Antonio was courting the horns far too much, he looked distracted, unfocussed. Lovino immediately knew something was wrong.

The child looked up, almost on instinct, towards the spot Lovino stared from. Lovino hid behind the humans, face red and heart pounding. The cruel words he had heard the child say echoed in his ears as those sad green eyes gazed over the public, looking for something he couldn't find. It broke his heart; under his cocky pose Toni looked so lost, so full of longing… He didn't want Antonio to just storm off when he saw him though, or worse, to repeat those harsh words in public. No, he needed to talk to Toni, and urgently, but not here. He'd talk to him in the palace. He'd kick Francis' door down and demand he explain what on Earth he was doing to the kid, and then he'd apologize to Toni, in private.

Joke was on him though. As he kicked the door of Francis' room in the early morning, ready to unleash hell if necessary, he was told that Francis wasn't in Madrid anymore, nor was Antonio. Apparently, Francis had decided they would both move back to Versailles now, an executive decision a day after Francis realized Lovino wasn't going anywhere.

“You are welcome to stay in Madrid as long as you wish sir,” the page had said, with a stupid smile that proved he honestly thought he was giving good news. Lovino lost it and shoved the guy halfway across the room. He didn't like hitting humans. He didn't like hitting anything that could hit him back as a rule. He was too much of a coward, but that morning he was out of his mind. He started packing furiously, shoving the little clothes he had actually bothered unpacking while Feli, who suddenly had remembered that he owed Lovino some sort of brotherly loyalty, orbited around him, trying to console him, or calm him down, or maybe even make fun of him? Lovino couldn't tell the difference anymore.

“Aw, fertello, don't look so sad,” Feliciano tried, while Lovino went through the entire range of emotions of raging, despairing, and eventually sulking in the room he hadn't even unpacked in. “You can still stay here with me. There are all sorts of interesting things to do in Madrid!”

Lovino couldn't catch up with Francis - he wouldn't be allowed to, protocol and all that - so he returned to his own home that very evening. There was nothing left for him in Madrid.

* * *

Feliciano had thought that he was doing the right thing for Lovino, helping him come to Madrid and realize that he was grasping at straws and at a hope that would never come true. Maybe even help him get a glimpse of Antonio or two, so he could be persuaded that Francis had not chopped Antonio's leg off, or whatever delusional concern his brother may have regarding France. He also was positive that he had done the right thing by himself by siding with France, and complying with the orders he had been given during his brother's stay. However, things had not gone according to plan, and Feliciano couldn't understand what kept driving his brother. He was still writing, and still insisting, demanding, and asking. The stubbornness that his brother was showing in this regard during these last twenty years had gone beyond a personality trait and straight into a medical condition. Feliciano didn't bother burning the letters anymore, or not those that were not for Toni, he felt too bad at this point.

In his responses, Feli did his best to reassure Lovino and answer his questions with as much truth as it was wise to use, which in Feli's opinion was quite a lot. Antonio was fine, Feli assured. He was well-fed, within the reasonable expectations of his time and place. He was clothed, he was happy, he had a good friend in Feliciano, and he had the best education available, provided by Francis and Feli themselves. He was even behaving now and growing more obedient, also within reason for his temperament, which was great news. It was all true but still, Lovino insisted on not believing Feliciano, on needing to see it all himself. Why? 

With a deep sigh, Feliciano sealed another letter that he knew would fail to comfort his brother, as all the others had…what was he going to do with that man?

Feliciano loved his brother as much as pitied him. Though Lovino was also the direct descendant of the mighty Rome and lived under the powerful Habsburg dynasty, just as Feli had, that's where their similarities as nations ended. Feliciano learned to please and charm, slowly but steadily climbing his way to power and influence within Europe. Lovino craved neither power nor influence. He desired only the child his former boss had become, and not even for the child's lands! It was a human concept. Feli knew their kind was subject to the same petty whims and desires as humans, but their lust for power and a desire to see their flags flying high above every inch of earth, kept them focused on the bigger picture. Lovino, it seemed to Feliciano, lacked the ambition to conquer, which somewhat endured Feli to his brother. Feliciano sliced open yet another letter from Lovino. 

Empires plagued Lovino's life, he lived under Rome, under Austria, now under France. As Lovino saw it, they were all idiots, their lusts to conquer would only lead to their undoing. He'd seen it with Rome, with Austria and soon it would be Francis' turn. Lovino had no desire to dominate another, watch them fall before him, and impose his customs and language on their peoples. He craved only to sit beside Antonio and watch the clouds float above the earth. He had said as much himself in the letter that Feliciano held in his hand now, and that Lovino had clearly written while drunk out of his mind, candid and pure. Lovino still mixing both Antonios up wishing he could just ride across the mountain passes holding on to Antonio's waist and being allowed to watch little Toni's happy eyes as he held a baby kitty purring in his lap. The entire thing was splattered with misspellings and blurred ink. This was not the letter of a nation, and it broke Feli's heart. He needed to help. He was going to help. 

Lovino needed to see Toni? Fine! Feliciano could arrange that -so could his brother, if he was not a dumbass with his head so deep in who knows where- as long as Francis didn't know it was his doing. And then, Feliciano was going to teach Lovino how to be a nation, absurd as the thought of parenting his stupid older brother may feel before Lovino managed to destroy himself even more.

With a sigh, Feliciano pushed himself from the desk and opened his closet, eyeing his options for the best jacket to wear to an audience with Charles III. Normally, when you need to ask a ruler for a favor, you wear whatever attire their nation considers their own. But what thing was “Spanish” anymore, or what had it ever meant? That was the hot question nowadays….In the meantime, how to flatter a king of Spain with a French dynasty and education, who tried to stay loyal to country and family, and with a soft spot for Lovino...That was very tricky indeed…

He just hoped he was doing the right thing.

* * *

After twenty long, miserable years of writing letters and asking for favors, Lovino did not receive any sort of worthwhile reply, yet he continued to write because after that misery in Madrid, writing hate mail to Francis kept him from going insane. He took a swig of wine, Spanish of course, from the bottle resting beside him atop his desk. Fifteen cases of Rioja wine was all he had to show for from his failure of a visit to Spain. A pile of empty wine bottles lay under his desk, and Lovino's feet occasionally knocked into them with a tinking sound. He'd been drinking more and more ever since he returned from Spain to quiet his worried mind. Lovino spent hours locked inside his room writing letter after letter. Ink constantly coated his fingertips; he shuddered to think of Antonio's reaction to the amount of geese corpses he amassed replacing broken quills. 

When he wasn't writing pointless letters asking Antonio how he was fairing, or imploring Francis to invite him to court, or asking his brother to tell him how Antonio was, he was wandering around with Antonio's animals. Well before they all died or ran away to find a better owner. Toni was right…. he _was_ worthless. He kept Juana's descendants as pets, each generation giving birth in his sock drawer. He moved the socks out of the draw and replaced them with blankets and linens, but for some reason whenever a cat decided it was time to give birth, they stole a pair of socks from him. If Toni was around, he would hand over his favorite pair of socks to the kitties, saying something like “they need them to keep warm” or “It's nice to share” or something equally as endearing and charmingly childish that would melt Lovino's tiny and dusty heart.

He sulked among memories. He missed the kid too much, even more than he missed the adult. It pained him to never receive a response to any of his letters. He had pegged France as the culprit, he hoped it was France, stealing his heartfelt letters, locking them in a drawer and away from Toni. But now he knew better, if it wasn't, what if Toni just came to the natural realization that Lovino was a cowardly fool with nothing to offer to an Empire like Spain.

He pressed down harder on the quill. Spelling out another long list of profanities in this latest letter he wrote to Francis. The quill snapped under his rage. Ink blotting the paper. He moaned, crumbled up the paper and tossed it over his shoulder to join the growing pile of ruined letters. Juana XIX dashed off after nearly dodging it. With a groan he banged his forehead against the oak desktop repeatedly, rattling the wine bottle and various trinkets. The three half- empty ink wells Lovino kept uncorked on his desk spilled over at a harsher bang. Runny black goop flooded the surface, slowly spreading like an invading army. Ink coated the papers, quills, and candle holders before spilling over onto the carpet. Lovino only realized what was happening after Juana XIX started meowing insistently. 

“Shit!” he cursed before scrambling out of his chair to locate a rag. He couldn't find anything usable in his dimly lit bedroom and resigned himself to plopping down back into his seat. The ink dripped onto his thigh, the stain grew steadily. Lovino rested his elbow on the desk and rubbed his head in his hand, uncaring that his black stain fingers coated his cheeks. He swiped the wine bottle from the desktop and arched his back guiding the last of its drops to his lips. The taste reminded him of warm summer days along the Spanish coast. He collapsed back in his chair allowing the bottle to clang onto the floor, rolling off to whatever dark corner of Lovino's messy bedroom it fancied.

That bastard! He promised that if Lovino was a good little vassal state; If Lovino paid his taxes, and allowed France access to his ports as France liked, and behaved himself like a good dynastic partner and stopped insulting the fat sake of lard who wore the fleur-de-lis, then maybe one day, if he somehow met all the endless conditions France piled on, Lovino might be worthy of entering the Versailles court and finally, finally, be reunited with his sweet little Antonio. He banged his head harder against the table. Was he drunk again? No, he didn't think so. How many bottles count as drunk again? He shook his head, it didn't matter, you can't be drunk unless you are trying to stand up anyway.

What more could he do? Francis had everything of Lovino's and knew Lovino would be willing to offer anything. He'd damn his soul to hell if it meant spending five minutes with the little boy he hadn't heard from in years. Just to explain or apologize or at the very least make sure he wasn’t as damn miserable as his dim green eyes were telling Lovino he was, to make sure France and his brother had not squashed that playful mischief and cleverness from Antonio. He shuddered to think about what the court had done to him. 

No, he reminded himself, Toni was strong. He would never bow to the flimsy demands for France. Stronger nations, stronger people, for fuck's sake even the pope himself, had tried to manipulate Spain and it always blew up in their faces. 

He would cry. He certainly felt like it. But instead of crying tears away, he drank them to oblivion. Enough wine rewound the clock to another time, another place where Antonio stood waiting with a wide smile to embrace him. He needed a hug, but no one reminded to hug him. Alcohol needed to suffice. 

He tried to locate an unopened wine bottle among his collection on the floor; the bottles clicked and banged together hallowly as he searched. He found one, staggering to his feet he grabbed the wine opener from his desktop. Was the room still spinning? How long had that been going on for?

* * *

A government official knocked lightly from outside Lovino's door, holding a letter. His young country barely left his room these days and rumor had it the reason was that the child had hit his “warring years” and needed to “man his artillery” so to speak. The thought of it greatly embarrassed the official. He knocked again, slightly louder this time. 

“Come in,” Lovino's voice sounded wounded, slurred and tiny from the darkness. 

He opened the door. A cork flew past his head like a bullet startling him. He adjusted his crooked spectacles and cautiously continued walking inside. 

“Romano?” the official ventured. He surveyed the teens' untidy room, which gave off every impression of wallowing in self-pity.

“Can't you see I'm busy?” Lovino asked without malice, not bothering to look his way as he took another sip of wine. The official continued to look at the sorry state of the room. Were those kittens playing in ink puddles? Their paw prints crisscrossed through the entire room over the white pillowcase all the way up vertically along with the curtains, which greatly puzzled the Neapolitan. 

The official shook himself out of his stupor, “Sir, there's a letter for you.”

Lovino perked up. “Really?” he asked, almost not believing it. “Is it from France?” He asked hopefully.

“No actually; it's from Spain. Madrid.”

Lovino's eyes grew wide; he set the wine bottle down hard on the table, red droplets splashing the ink stained cuff of his shirt. The young nation lunged. In his rush he stepped in the puddle, before stepping on a half ripped piece of parchment. He nearly tripped on the wine bottle that rolled off earlier, but righted himself just in time to grab the letter from the stunned official.

With shaky hands, he brought the letter to his eyes.

* * *

_My Most Esteemed Kingdoms of the Two Sicilies,_

_I hope my son is treating you with the utmost respect, and being the king you deserve. It pained me greatly to leave your throne in favor of ruling Spain, and for that I apologize again. Despite your reactions on that day, which I fully understand -the laundress was indeed able to remove the shoe print from my favorite pair of trousers- I have great affection for you. You were good to me. You were patient with the over-nosed, inexperienced princeling I used to be, and taught me how to rule a nation. Now, I'm doing my best to put that learning to use in favor of Spain._

_Regarding your affection for my young kingdom, it has come to my knowledge that you miss spending time with him, and that you feel great grief at being forced to stay away from the child you raised. II was not aware of this, and I am unsure about whether my older brother knew himself. In the name of the affection I feel towards you, I would like to help you, even if my ability to do so is limited._

_I can not, as you know, provide you with an invitation to Versailles, for it is not my court. However, I still hold power over my own kingdom, and I can make a risky move against my family, as far as I don't make a habit out of it. I will recall Antonio to Madrid unless France invites you to his court himself. It is not a guarantee that you will be able to see Antonio again, but it is the closest I can offer._

_If my cousin chooses to not invite you, it will give me an excuse to recall Antonio back for some time, and that would make things simple, as you are free to see him there whenever you wish. I am certain that Francis and his King would not be happy to lose Antonio's stubborn self from sight, and will much rather have you as a guest there than allow him to grow too independent as he seems to do when he spends too long among his humans._

_I have no power over how you will be treated in France, Two Sicilies, and for that I am sorry, but hopefully, this forced invite will give you a chance to catch up with Antonio, if you manage to get through to him. I encourage you to not take his first reactions too personally; God knows that I don't! He is tempestuous and immature, and his ingratitude has given me heartache often, but I know that deep down he is a good kid._

_If this plan suits you, please return to Madrid at your earliest convenience, so we can discuss the details of it._

_Kind Regards,_

_Charles III, King of Spain._

Lovino hugged the letter to his heart. _“_ That nosey bastard!” he could weep with joy! 

* * *

The visage of Versailles stood opposingly on an otherwise flat green lawn surrounded in every direction with sprawling gardens, as if daring anyone to find a more grand palace in all the world. The sight of it terrified Lovino, it looked expensive and played it's part as a grandeur of wealth and power effectively. Lovino turned his head away, properly intimidated. Damn France! Even the fucking architecture in this country liked to play mind games. 

“It's stunning, huh?” Feli asked from beside him. “I'm happy you finally get to see it.”

“I've seen nicer.” Lovino replied dryly. The coach ran over a rock; Lovino bumped his head on the ceiling. 

“Ouch! Fucking watch it!” Lovino rubbed his head, tossing his hair. Feliciano frowned and tried to smooth down the messy, auburn locks. 

“Look Lovino, I say this out of love for you, my only brother.” Feli began. 

“This ought to be good,” Lovino muttered to himself. 

“You need to understand that there are certain behaviors expected at the French court. There are… customs and such you should learn to appreciate. You might have to do things you don't want to do. But you'll realize by doing them... you'll become stronger, okay?” 

Lovino pushed his brother's fussing hands away as the coach rolled to a stop, “I am _not_ fucking curtsying. Not for Francis. Not for anyone!” Lovino hopped out, leaving Feli alone for a moment. The younger Italian shrugged to himself. His brother would realize what needed to be done soon enough. 

Lovino took a deep breath as they walked toward the palace's entrance. An endless array of courtiers in white make-up, pastel ensembles, and powdered wigs a mile high strolled along the front gardens as the Italians walked. Lovino could wear his finest most expensive suit and still look underdressed. His simple dark green coat and matching breeches made him stand out like a sore thumb. He laughed in Feli's face when he saw his brother done up in a powdered white wig with a mint pastel suit decorated with an overabundance of gold embroidery. Now he understood why.

Civil servants and low ranking government officials scurried around delivering letters and gifts from secret loves and scheming nobles, you could never tell who was cavorting and who was canoodling and who was conspiring around here. 

They entered the palace and Lovi saw himself and his brother reflected back at him. A wall of mirrors lined the entire wall opposite the domed windows, overlooking in gardens and patios Lovino and his brother recently traversed.

“Fucking hell!” Lovino mumbled in awe, waving to his reflection and making faces in the mirror. Never in his life had he seen so many mirrors! “How fucking vain is Francis?!” Mirror and glass were expensive luxuries and the wall was covered with them! Calculating the price alone made Lovino's head spin. 

Feliciano chuckled, “France calls it 'The Hall of Mirrors.'” Feli added a flourish to the title. 

“Creative name,” Lovino quipped, walking up to the glass. “You did a good job on this, Feli.” 

“Thanks, Lovi. But I can't take credit. France made it all himself,” Feli cheered.

“What?” Lovino pulled away from the glass, repulsed. 

“I offered him Venecian glass,” Feli shrugged and continued. “But he insisted on using his own. Shame about that. I would have made a ton on the commission, but all well.” 

“No wonder it looks so shoddy!” Lovino glared at the glass.

“But, Lovi you just said -”

“No, I didn't! Shut up! And never speak of this again!” Lovino insisted, eyeing his reflection wearily. 

Making their way down a series of overly complicated meandering corridors and rooms each fancier than the last. Every room with far more furniture, frescoes, and finery than any space purely needed. The palace did its job, it made Lovino feel small and cowardly. But fuck France! And fuck his stupid tricks! 

He recalled what the former Antonio had told him upon returning from this place. France had invited Lovino too, he invited all the personifications of Europe just to gloat about his pricey shiny new palace and fancy king who was slightly less stupid than all of Francis’ other kings, if you asked Lovino.

Nothing to boast about, really. Antonio had gone out of curiosity and because he, for god knows why, called Francis his friend. It was the 1640s, so Antonio insisted Lovino stay in Madrid and wait for the report, which Lovino did despite wanting to see how stupid the palace was for himself because Antonio had asked him with an extra sweet smile. When Spain returned from his stay he answered this to an inquisitive Lovino, “It looks nice.”

Lovino stared at him in disbelief. He had heard it was the finest palace in all the whole wide world and that was it? 

“Nice?” Lovino responded, incredulous, sitting up on Antonio's bed as the elder organized his weaponry. 

“Si, nice. That's all it is,” Antonio shrugged with a smile.

While Lovino mused, they arrived. The ballroom was too overcrowded, too luxurious, too damn loud. It all made Lovino feel too small, in his too plain clothes. He pushed those thoughts aside. He came here for one reason and one reason only. He tried to locate the kid among the crowd of wide skirts and over the top hairdos. There! Nestled in a corner, Antonio sat watching out a large window. Without a word to his brother, Lovino made his way over to Antonio. 

France stood in the middle of it all, holding a champagne coupe and chatting with a chubby court official wearing glasses and a man with a grand walking stick who looked about to keel over and die from old age any minute.

“Feli!” France cheered, as Feli walked to him. Francis knelt down and kissed Lovino's brother on both cheeks. 

“Ve~ Hi big brother France. I have someone here to see you.” Feliciano turned around, but Lovino had vanished. “Where’d he go?”

France looked around and saw Romano creeping his way closer to young Antonio. With a sigh, France gestured to his guards who immediately blocked Lovino’s path and dragged him away right as he prepared himself to speak. Antonio turned away from the window, compelled by a strange force. He looked around the room and saw nothing out of place. Antonio ignored the hollow pang in his heart. He caught Francis’s eye. The elder waved to Antonio with a grin. Antonio waved back with an insincere smile before returning his attention out the window and away from the court. 

The smile France brandished disappeared as the French guards deposited Lovino in front of the wannabe empire. Lovino straightened his plain attire with annoyance. France looked at him, less surprised than Lovino expected but clearly displeased to see his second favorite Italian brother. Lovino was relieved their special brand of hatred had not died over the decades. 

“Feliciano, it's nice to have you here, but you seem to have a stow away. Romano,” France greeted with a sour note in his voice. “I don't recall sending you an invitation.”

Lovino smirked wickedly, pulled a letter from his jacket pocket and unfolded the paper in Francis' stupid face. France examined the paper.

“Romano you and Spain are forbidden to share a king again, Charles abdicated you years ago!”

“If you’d read the fucking thing, you’d realize he _kindly asks you_ to invite me to stay here with Toni, for he thinks I'll be a good influence and shit,” Lovino answered with a sharp smile. ”If you refuse though, I'm here to let you know that he _recalls_ **_his_ ** nation to Madrid. Point is, he is his king and there isn't shit you can do about Antonio leaving, with _me,_ ” Lovino put his hands on his hips. “Unless you allow me to stay here.” If Lovino was two centuries younger, he would stick out his tongue. 

He intended to march past Francis and back to the window, but the kingdom held out a hand to stop him.

“Very well, but I can't have you remain at my palace dressed in such peasant rags!” he sounded aghast. Romano perhaps did not boast the latest fashions, but his clothing did the job. 

“I bet the peasantry in your country dress far worse,” Romano retorted offended. France thought for a moment before shrugging. 

“Really, France? Your complete disregard for your own people will bite you in the ass one day.”

“So you say…” France sounded unconvinced. 

“It's just good politics.”

“Politics nowadays are all about luxury and appearances. And…” He smirked triumphantly 

“The siblings of you know who.”

Both their eyes turned to the young Spaniard quietly staring out the oversized palace window, looking like he would rather be fighting a murderous beast than sitting surrounded by this pomp and luxury. Lovino smiled to himself, knowing Spain, that's exactly where he would rather be. 

France caught Lovino's starry expression. 

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” France snapped his fingers in Lovino's face, breaking the trance. “You can look, but remember the rules of my court. You are here as a courtesy for the King of Spain, but if you break one rule, so much as one.” France held up his index finger in Lovino's face. “I will kick you out and be done with you. Comprendre, petit Romano?” 

Yes, he understood, and he understood exactly why the colossal bastard was bringing it to his attention _right now_. It was a stupid rule in Francis’ court. A mistress could not start a conversation with the queen, meaning lower ranking officials were forbidden to talk to higher ranking officials unless directly addressed. So, If Lovino wanted to stay he was not allowed to simply run over to Toni and squeeze the bejesus out of him, even though that was his plan exactly. He would need to wait until he could get a moment alone. 

“Is he okay?” Lovino asked, eyes still on Spain.

“Romano as you can clearly see, Toni is well fed, well dressed, and well taken care of. Now, please go change. Your clothing is offending me.”

“Yeah. sure whatever.” Romano growled, stomping away in the opposite direction of where the teen sulked.

“Sweet, Feli?” France asked

“Ve~ Yes, big brother France,” he said dopily. 

“Please be a lamb and make sure Romano learns his way around.” 

“Sure,” Feli smiled his signature smile, but France found a smidge of ruthlessness in it. “I plan to teach Roma a lot of things during his stay here.”


End file.
